


Hawthorne

by BlueBelleBarrett



Series: The World of the Grove [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anxiety Disorder, Author Ignores the Cursed Child Entirely and Regrets Nothing, Canon-Typical Violence, Established James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Good Albus Dumbledore, Good Regulus Black, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, James Potter and Lily Evans Potter's Wedding, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Panic Attacks, Rating May Change, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Lives, Social Anxiety, The Sacred Twenty-Eight (Harry Potter), Time Travel Fix-It, War Against Magic, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29320722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBelleBarrett/pseuds/BlueBelleBarrett
Summary: Olwyn Potter woke up in the Grove. Hurled back in time to 1977 by the last acts of her parents, Olive and Albus Potter, Olwyn is faced with a monumental task: stop the War Against Magic by preventing magic from being discovered by Muggles. A task certainly easier said than done, especially considering the Wizarding World is in the throes of the first war against Voldemort. Despite the impossibility of her claims, the members of the Hawthorne clan somehow believe her.So, the plan? Leave the sacred isle and the safety of the Grove behind with only a Runes expert posing as her brother, enroll in Hogwarts School, charm as many children of important people as she can possibly manage, and defeat Voldemort so the Wizengamot can get down to the real business of tightening the Statute of Secrecy and protecting wizardkind from the horrors Olwyn alone remembers. Preferably without anyone dying.To be fair, Dad always said that the best laid plans are the ones that fail most spectacularly, and Regulus Black was never part of Olwyn's calculations.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter & Original Female Character(s), Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: The World of the Grove [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181426
Comments: 17
Kudos: 54





	1. Part One: One

The blonde girl sat up with a start, her breath catching in her throat at the suddenness. There was a long, dizzying moment where she could not place herself before it all began to crystallize in her mind. She was Olwyn, Olwyn Potter, yes. Only daughter of Olive and Albus Potter, although...she squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of disjointed memories, explosions and screaming and her father’s green eyes, bright with panic. Was she still a daughter if her parents were dead? She took a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth, and tried to steady her thoughts. There would be time for grief later.

Olwyn opened her eyes and took in her surroundings with more care. She was in the Grove, that much she was sure of. It was impossible to tell if her parents’ ritual had worked, because the Grove was as close to unchanging as any mortal thing could be. The oaks and maples that surrounded her were the same now as she remembered them being all her life, so that meant very little. She glanced upwards; the boughs of one of the eleven sacred hawthorn trees swayed above her in a gentle breeze. It was springtime, same as it had been with the Muggle armies had finally come for her home and her family. She shivered, despite the warm air.

“Who are you?” came a voice, male and unfamiliar, from over Olwyn’s shoulder. She immediately tried to leap up and defend herself, but her body protested so loudly she stumbled and dropped to her knees. She stared up at the man who had spoken. She did not recognize him. He was tall, with sharp blue eyes and long blonde hair and, to her relief, the rune for protection tattooed over his right temple. He was a wizard, and she was safe. With that thought spreading through her mind, she allowed herself to collapse entirely. Sleep was quick to claim her.

The second time Olwyn came to, she was no longer lying on the exposed forest floor. The blankets piled over her were the familiar rough wool that was common in the Grove. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of lavender and the sharper undertones of a bitter potion brewing. She listened for a long moment; there was someone in the room with her, tinkering about with what was probably the cauldron containing the potion she could smell. Olwyn let her eyes flicker open. The wooden slats of a Grove house ceiling came into view, and Olwyn rolled her head to the right, towards the source of the noises. A red haired woman was bent over a cauldron, stirring a complicated pattern through the potion inside using a hickory switch. The woman’s face was flushed from the heat of her fire, and the steam was causing her hair to curl up at the edges of the kercheif she had used to tie it back. As if she could sense Olwyn’s eyes, the witch glanced up. Her eyes were dark, darker than Olwyn would have expected with such a pale face, but she smiled.

“You’re awake at last,” the woman said, finishing her stirring with a flourish. “I was beginning to worry you’d never wake up.” The witch wiped her hands on a linen towel hanging from her belt, and swept out from behind her potion. She was wearing sage green traditional robes, loose and shapeless except where her belt cinched in her waist. Her appearance gave Olwyn no clue as to the year.

“Please,” Olwyn croaked, surprising herself with the roughness of her own voice. She tried to continue, but a fit of coughing overtook her. The witch handed her a pottery cup of water, and Olwyn drank it down greedily. After a moment, she felt she could try again. “Please,” she attempted, “What year is it?”

The red-headed woman laughed, loud and bright, and planted her hands on her hips. “What a question!” she chortled, “Usually, I’d get something more along the lines of ‘who are you?’ or ‘where am I?’” the witch’s smile grew sharper, “But you already know where you are, don’t you, _cariad bach_?” There was no use denying it. Olwyn’s mother had always said that the Grove left its mark on its inhabitants, and Olwyn needed these clan members to trust her. So she nodded.

“I’m in the Grove,” she murmured.

The witch nodded in response, her eyes roaming over Olwyn’s face and clothing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were one of us. A Hawthorne.”

“I am a Hawthorne, at least by blood. My mother was…” Olwyn trailed off, frowning. “My mother will be a Hawthorne by birth,” she corrected, “And I will grow up in the Grove, for the most part, even though my father will be an outsider.”

The woman’s eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. “Interesting choice of tense, there,” she noted, far more calmly than Olwyn could have expected.

“I’m from the future,” Olwyn admitted, “Or at least, I’m supposed to be. That’s why I need to know what year it is. I need to know if it worked.”

The red-headed witch nodded, looking thoughtful, but before she could answer, the door flew open and a man stepped into the cottage. Olwyn stiffened at his sudden appearance, but the witch did not seem disturbed at the intrusion.

“Aunt Mercy!” the man bellowed, tugging on a lock of golden hair, “You were supposed to tell me when she woke up!”

The witch laughed. “And I would have done, too, but you burst in before I could even get a name out of our little guest.” She turned expectantly to Olwyn, who was sitting on a cot with her blanket drawn up to her chin. The man followed suit, wearing a pouty expression which betrayed his young age.

“Um,” Olwyn started, “My name is Olwyn Potter.”

“Mercy Hawthorne,” the witch said by way of response. “And this great lump of a boy is my nephew, Oswald.”

The blond man rubbed the back of his neck with a hand and gave her a rueful little smile. “Sorry for barging in, Miss Olwyn,” he said, “But I found you passed out under a sacred hawthorn and, well, it’s not every day that that happens, now is it?”

Olwyn had to agree that it was not.

“Well,” Mercy said, clapping her hands together, “Now that you’re awake and Oswald is here, we might as well go and see the Head of the Clan. He’s been asking after you, Olwyn, very concerned, he was.” Mercy smiled, gesturing to Olwyn to stand.

Shakily, Olwyn slid the blanket off her body and swung her legs over the edge of the cot. The floor was warm against her bare feet, and far steadier beneath her than she’d feared. She stood slowly, anyways, not trusting her body entirely after its previous betrayal. But, her fears proved unfounded, and she was soon shaking out the long skirt of her own robe and trying to smooth back her blonde hair.

Mercy grinned and offered her an arm to lean on. “Lead the way, Oz,” she declared, stepping out of the cottage after him. “By the way,” she muttered into Olwyn’s ear, too quietly for Oswald to hear, “It’s currently the eighteenth of March, 1977.”

The standing rocks where they were to meet the Head of Clan would not change in the next seventy-five years. Olwyn was still reeling a bit from the number, but at least the ritual had worked. Tears pricked her eyes. At least her parents had not given everything in vain. She took a deep, shuddering breath. There would be time for grief later; now, she had to convince the Head of the Clan to not only believe her, but help her.

The man waiting for them in the center of the stones was probably in his late seventies, although he had that strange, ageless quality that many wizardkind attained in the second half of their lives. He was standing straight, and the staff he carried was clearly for ceremonial purposes, instead of being needed. His hair was a mix of grey and white, trimmed neatly to just past his shoulders and pulled away from his bearded face. He had the ruin of protection on his right temple, and a rune for wisdom on his left. A delicate line of rune work, too far away to be read, adorned his left cheekbone as well. The deep green robes completed the look of a Clan Head in his prime, and when his blue eyes found Olwyn, she could feel his power in her bones.

“So,” the man said as they entered the open space in the center of the stones, “This is Oswald’s foundling.”

“Olwyn Potter, f _y arglwydd_ ,” she said, passing her hand over her collarbone in a formal sign of respect. The Head laughed, and gave her an appraising look. “I am Pericles Hawthorne, Head of Clan Hawthorne, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were one of us.” He tilted his head. “You have the look of the Grove about you.”

“I will be one of you,” Olwyn admitted. She took a deep breath. She had grown up in the Grove, and trusting the clan members with her story was the only way to make sure she could fulfill her promise to her parents. She had to speak. “In the year 2025, Muggles discover magic,” she said, and those in the standing circle fell quiet. “My grandfather was the Head of the DMLE at the time, and he tried to help negotiate with the Muggles. At first, it seemed to be working. My father was still in school, then. He wasn’t quite sure what happened, exactly, but the Muggles...they were never exactly comfortable with magic. It wasn’t so bad, in the beginning, but as time went by...my mother always said it started with the little things. She left the Grove to attend Hogwarts, and afterwards, worked in the Department of Mysteries with my father, you know, and she watched it all happen. They wanted to track magic, at first. To make sure it wasn’t being used against them. Then they wanted to track magical people. And then...well, it started in the States, these laws that made it so you had to register. And there were, were all sorts of crimes. Crimes against magical people, against their children. When wizards retaliated, they were imprisoned. It just...it escalated. My mother took me to the Grove when I was only three years old, because the Grove was one of the few magical places left that the Muggle government didn’t know about. It wasn’t...it wasn’t really war until I was almost ten. They used...the Muggles...I don’t know if you know what an atomic bomb is-,” Olwyn cut herself off with a deep, shuddering sigh. Tears were beginning to prick at her eyelids, and when she opened her eyes, the clearing had become blurred. “Hogwarts was destroyed. And then they started targeting magical areas, death penalties for using magic, it...it all spiraled out of control so fast. We were safe, for a long time, here. But they, well, they found us. Somehow. And they came for us. And my parents-” here her voice cracked. Olwyn wiped at her face roughly, willing the tears to stop flowing.

“I think I understand,” Pericles interjected gently. “You want to stop this war?”

Olwyn nodded. “It’s not a war,” she managed, her voice thick and wet, “It’s annihilation. And I have to stop it. I have to try. I promised.” She screwed her face up and willed herself to stop crying.

“It’s alright, _cariad_ ,” Mercy said, sweeping Olwyn into her arms. Olwyn pressed her face into Mercy’s hair. “You can cry,” the red-headed witch whispered, holding her so firmly Olwyn felt she would not fly apart, no matter how badly she wanted to. The sobs, though, broke out of her in a torrent, gasping and horrible, and a grief for her mother and father so strange and strong she felt sure she would drown. For a long while, the only sound echoing amongst the standing stones was Olwyn Potter’s despair.

It was decided, sometime after Olwyn calmed down, that there would have to be a plan. Olwyn would have to be introduced to Wizarding society at large, if she was going to have any hope of making a difference and avoiding the future she had come from. Pericles seemed to accept everything Olwyn had said rather quickly, and it was only later that Oswald had informed her that he could see when people were lying, one of the many strange gifts that a life in the Grove granted. It was another of these strange gifts that spawned the plan they eventually agreed upon.

“Just say you’ve had a premonition,” Mercy said, shrugging, “Members of our clan are known for that sort of thing. Say you had a premonition, and that it led you to enroll in Hogwarts.” Here, Mercy had paused, looking Olwyn over with a critical eye. “You’re not older than seventeen, are you?” Olwyn was not, having just turned sixteen two months prior. It was decided that she would enroll in Hogwarts School, as a Hawthorne. This meant a number of preparations must be made, because she would have to sit her OWLS in May, and would have to get special permission both from the Ministry and from Headmaster Dumbledore to do so. And so off Pericles went in a flurry of letter-writing, and it was left to Mercy and Oswald to make sure her knowledge was up to snuff.

Olwyn found she rather liked Oswald. He helped her study, bringing books to Aunt Mercy’s cottage and quizzing her out of them while Aunt Mercy brewed up delicate and difficult potions. Despite his loud introduction, he was really quite sensitive and powerful, exceptional with Ancient Runes, in particular. In fact, he had attained a Mastery in the subject the year prior. It was this fact that Pericles decided he would put into play; the position of Professor for Ancient Runes was open at Hogwarts, and he encouraged Oswald to apply. Oswald would be accompanying Olwyn out into the wider world as her older brother, as it would be nearly impossible for an underage witch to function alone. Olwyn had never had a sibling before, but she imagined no one could fill the role quite so well as Oswald.

Aunt Mercy had given Olwyn a notebook, bound with wine-red leather and charmed to be ever-expanding, and it was into this notebook that Olwyn poured out everything she remembered of the future. The first section of the book was dominated by a timeline, starting in 1977 and reaching all the way to 2050. She would never need all of it, but she felt better if she had it all written down somewhere. It was the next few years that she focused most on, documenting every little fact her parents had ever taught her about the First Wizarding War, everything she’d picked up from books and journals, anything that might possibly be of use to her. She knew that the Dark Lord Voldemort was approaching the peak of his power, and that the Wizarding World would be in the throes of war before long. She also knew that Voldemort would have to be stopped, hopefully for good, before anyone would be willing to listen to her. She frowned when she noted that; it wasn’t her goal to defeat Voldemort, but there didn’t seem to be any real way around the attempt, as she doubted he would listen to her ideas. Olwyn stared down at the inky sprawl that took up the first few pages of her journal, a mess of names and dates and sidenotes. The enormity of her task stared back up at her.


	2. Part One: Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> We're straying into slightly more familiar territory this time.
> 
> For future reference, I will be posting all chapter-specific warnings in this note. If anything in the tags is a trigger for you, please check here for warnings before preceding. 
> 
> All of my chapters are going to be closer to this word-count; most will be longer. The first chapter is really more of a prologue to get everything situated then a full-length chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Blue

In the last days of May, Olwyn and Oswald made their way to the village of Hogsmeade in the Scottish Highlands. It was far enough from the island where the Grove was hidden off the southern coast of Wales that Oswald had had to stop at a mid-point twice. Each time, he made a face as their feet landed on solid ground and the world reappeared around them. Olwyn probably would have too, but she was far too busy trying not to be sick. It had been years since she’d been side-along Apparated at all, never mind over the hundreds of miles they were now covering. But, at long last, the two newly-minted siblings were standing at the top of the Hogsmeade High Street. 

Oswald had booked a room in the Three Broomsticks for the next two weeks; from there, Olwyn could walk up to the school every morning for the exams she was taking. A pretty woman named Rosmerta checked them into their room and told them when meals were on offer and rambled on a bit about the trip up to the school, quite clearly taken with Oswald’s sharp jaw and blue eyes. But eventually, she left them to their own devices and Olwyn flopped onto one of the beds. 

“I hate Apparation,” she stated, staring at the beamed ceiling above them. Oswald snorted. 

“You don’t say?” he drawled. Olwyn smacked a hand towards him, demonstrating her ire. She would have gotten up and actually smacked him, but he was too far away and she was too tired. “I take it you don’t want to do any more studying?” he asked, pulling a notebook from his charmed satchel. 

Olywn groaned. “I don’t want to,” she admitted, “But I probably should. What’s the order, again?” 

“Let’s see.” Oswald flipped through the notebook to the page where he had carefully recorded the dates and times of all the exams Olwyn had signed up to take. “Tomorrow is going to be all Transfiguration, unfortunately, the theory in the morning and then a practical after lunch.” 

Olwyn groaned again. Of all the subjects she was taking OWLS for, Transfiguration was easily the worst. The complicated diagrams and detailed wand movements were irritating, and she was bad at them. She much preferred a subject like Charms, where her lack of theoretical understanding could be overwhelmed by sheer willpower and magical force. Oswald snorted. He had been treated to her rants on Transfiguration and its unnecessary delicacy several times over the past six weeks, and probably knew exactly what was running through her head. 

“It won’t be that bad,” Oswald said, attempting to console her, “You can get the worst subject out of the way first.” 

And he wasn’t wrong. Besides Transfiguration, she was taking exams in Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, and Astronomy, all the core classes. She was also taking OWLS in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, as her elective courses. This meant she would have a very busy two weeks of exams ahead of her, but it was for the best. She needed to make an impression, and this would be a way to do so. 

The next morning, Olwyn woke early. She showered and dried her hair and sat for a moment in front of the mirror, contemplating the first impression she wanted to give Hogwarts and the Wizarding World at large. Her mother had taught her that such things were important. She sniffled a little. Olive Potter had been eternally graceful, eternally put-together, eternally patient. Olwyn wiped her eyes with a sigh. Her mother’s memory was not as overpowering as it might have been, thanks to meditation and Occlumency training with Aunt Mercy, but it was still potent. She looked like her mother, everyone who had known them said. The same oval face, the same cheekbones, the same small mouth and upturned nose, framed by the mane of golden blonde hair so common among the Hawthorne Clan. Her eyes though, were her father’s, almond-shaped and vividly green. Sitting at the dressing table in a inn room in Hogsmeade, Olwyn could admit to missing her parents. 

“Wish me luck,” she whispered, imagining her parents smiling proudly at her. She let her eyes drift close and took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She opened her eyes and set to work. 

Olwyn had decided to wear her hair loose down her back, wild curls and waves falling to her waist, her eyes accentuated with a dark brown kohl so they stood out fiercely above her freckled cheeks. The other students would be in their school robes, so she would wear robes of her own. Aunt Mercy had lent her this pair, in a pale robin’s egg blue. The hem fell to the tops of her boots and she cinched her waist with a tooled leather belt, the silver fastenings gleaming in the morning light. She looked like a Grove witch. She would make an impression on those who saw her, and that was what she wanted. 

“Almost ready?” Oz called, rapping his knuckles agains the bathroom door. 

“Yes,” Olwyn replied, trying her best to sound confident. She pulled the door open. Oswald was dressed in a darker blue, his robe stopping just above the knee to reveal brown leggings and polished boots. He had braided strands of his hair away from his face, showing off the rune tattooed on his temple. A golden hoop glinted in his left ear as he nodded approvingly at her appearance. 

“Making an impression, are we?” he said, and Olwyn sighed. 

“Trying to, anyways.” 

Oswald grinned. “We should go, or you’ll be late.” 

They made it out of the inn and down the High Street without any major incidents, only attracting a few stares from those who were not quick enough to hide their shock. Olwyn could understand it. The Grove was notorious for its isolation and the rumors of power which had swirled around it since antiquity. It was rare to see a clan member outside the Grove, even rarer to see two making their way towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Olwyn knew, in the 1,300 year history of the school, she was the fourth Hawthorne to attend; it had to be something of a shock for most witches and wizards. 

At the gates of the school, there was a very stern-looking woman waiting. She was dressed in emerald robes, the style far more modern than the traditional sets Olwyn and Oswald wore. She had a serious face, Olwyn noted, and she carried a very official-looking scroll, but her eyes were kind.

“Hello,” she greeted them as the gates swung open for them. “My name is Professor Mierva McGonagall, and I will be escorting Miss Hawthorne from here.” She gave Oswald a look, most likely for his earring and long hair, but Oswald smiled back at her. 

“Of course,” he said, his voice deepening in the way it did when he wished to be extra polite, “My name is Oswald Hawthorne, and this is my sister, Olwyn.” 

“Oswald Hawthrone?” Professor McGonagall repeated, a little furrow appearing between her sharp eyebrows. “You’ve applied for the Ancient Runes position, have you not?” 

“I have, yes.”

“I read your Mastery thesis, you know, quite a feat you managed with that Rune combination.”

“So I’m told,” Oswald agreed, only a little pride creeping into his voice. Professor McGonagall hummed, and gave him another, far more calculating, look. 

“Well,” she said, “We must be off, Miss Hawthorne, or I fear you may miss the beginning of the examination. I hope we may speak about your Runic ordering at another time, Mr Hawthorne?” 

“Of course,” Oswald said, with his most charming grin, “But please, call me Oswald. Good luck,  _ cariad _ ,” he added, turning to Olwyn. 

“Thanks,” she managed, feeling a little ill now that she would be leaving Oz behind. But she dutifully waved farewell and trotted after the stern professor towards the castle. 

Hogwarts was...breathtaking, for lack of a better word. Her father had always described it so, but she hadn’t really believed him until she saw it for herself. It reared up out of the surrounding hills like an ancient behemoth, perched on the shores of a loch. The windows stared at her, a thousand judging eyes, weighing her worth. She squared her shoulders. She would not let them find her lacking. Professor McGonagall marched her up to the grand doors and into the marble-tiled Entrance Hall. There, a number of witches and wizards in modern robes like McGonagall’s stood around, talking in hushed voices. Beyond them, a massive staircase rose towards the upper floors, and to the right, there was another set of double doors, this one flung open, although the angle obscured the room beyond. 

“Ah, Minerva, right on time.” 

All the gathered witches and wizards stopped speaking to turn and stare at Olwyn and the professor. The wizard who had spoken had his hands clasped behind his back, a grandfatherly smile just peeking out from behind a massive white beard, over which two shrewd blue eyes danced. 

“Headmaster,” Professor McGonagall said, gesturing towards Olwyn, “This is Miss Hawthorne, who will be taking her examinations with us in the hopes of joining the sixth year this September.” Olwyn nodded, repressing the uncanny urge to bow. So this was the famous Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. Well. The man might be dressed in garish robes and wear a kind smile, but the aura he exuded proved he was not one to be trifled with. 

“Miss Hawthorne,” he acknowledged, “You had best join the other students in the Great Hall.” He swept his arm out, indicating that she should enter through the open double doors. Olwyn could only nod and do as she was instructed, averting her eyes from his. 

The Great Hall was full of other people, crowded around and into desks, but that wasn’t what Olwyn noticed first. No, the ceiling was what caught her attention, reflecting the puffy clouds and early summer sunlight that was to be found outside. She smiled up at it; the charm work must be truly incredible, she thought, to withstand the centuries so beautifully. It was only after a moment of contemplation that she lowered her gaze to the actual humans in the Hall, and realized that they were mostly staring at her. She was determined not to let it bother her, and instead sought out the desk that had been assigned to her. She strode confidently up the rows, her robes swishing around her boots with every step. When she found her seat, she sat down with a flick of her hair and pulled her quill and inkpot from her bag. They could stare all they liked, she told herself, and it wouldn’t mean a thing to her. 

An examiner, one of the wizards who had been clustered around Dumbledore when she entered the castle, made his way to the front of the Hall, and there was a sudden flurry of activity as students took their seats. 

“Very well, everyone has found their seat,” the old man croaked out, lacing his fingers in front of a protruding belly. “Please note that cheating is strictly prohibited. The exact rules may be found in your OWL handbook, or on the chalkboard behind me.” He raised his wand, held to the top of an ornate hourglass that hovered beside him. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “This is the theoretical section of the Ordinary Wizarding Level in Transfiguration. You have three hours to complete the test. The time is now ten o’clock. You may begin.” He tapped the hourglass with his wand, and a thick sheaf of parchement appeared in front of every student. Olwyn glanced down at it and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thought. 

The rest of her examinations went much the same way that first one had, somehow managing to be boring and nerve-wracking at the same time. It didn’t help that in the Charms practical, she had noticed a boy staring at her. Now, to be fair, there were a lot of boys here, and a lot of people staring at her, but something about his gaze seemed to draw her attention. He was tall and thin and dark-haired, with the kind of face that just screamed an aristocratic bloodline. All of this would have been unremarkable to Olwyn, if it hadn’t been for his eyes. They were large and hooded and even from a distance, she could make out their strange grey colour as they followed her movements. He just seemed so...intense, she supposed, was the word. She shook her head and tried to focus, and did eventually manage to forget the silver-eyed boy, at least for that afternoon. She noticed him a few other times, in the Astronomy practical and the Defense Against the Dark Arts theory section, but she was determined that he would not know she had realized he was watching her. She noted his green and silver tie, though, and wondered if they would be in the same House. 

By the end of the fortnight, Olwyn can happily say that she suspected she’d done quite well on her exams. She told Oswald as much on their way back to the Grove, and then said it again to Aunt Mercy. Oswald had patted her head, and Aunt Mercy had quirked an eyebrow, but both seemed glad she was, at the very least, over with this portion of her application. 

“Focus on the surface of the stone,” Aunt Mercy intoned, her voice as steady as the rock on which they were perched. Olwyn took a deep breath and stretched her awareness, letting every divot and rough patch in the stone fill her senses. “Good,” Aunt Mercy murmured. Olwyn’s mind was an empty, placid cloud; nothing could reach her here. No fear, no anger, no horror as she relived her parents’ last moments over and over again in her dreams. Just the calm, and the steady sound of Aunt Mercy’s voice. She had been working with Olwyn almost since the night she arrived, when Olwyn had woken her in the middle of the night by screaming for her father. But that had been in March, and now, nearing the end of July, Olwyn was much more confident in her ability to settle her mind. She had found that if she meditated in bed at night, and again when she woke up in the morning, she could keep the grief at bay. She had spoken to Aunt Mercy about it a lot, telling stories about her parents and letting out her guilt at surviving and the weight that she now bore, all over a brewing potion. Aunt Mercy was a good listener, and Olwyn would miss her when she went to Hogwarts. If she went to Hogwarts. 

“You aren’t focusing,  _ blodyn gwyn _ ,” Aunt Mercy admonished, and Olwyn sighed, letting her thoughts go and trying to fade back into that peace. “It’s alright,” Aunt Mercy said after a moment, “Come back to yourself. There’s an owl at the door.” 

Olwyn’s eyes shot open and she stood so quickly she swayed as blood rushed to her head. Aunt Mercy was right; there was a barn owl perched on the fence just outside the open door. Olwyn squealed and dashed out of the cottage, her bare feet springing against the moss. She had been waiting for her OWL results for two months, now, and she wanted to set her mind to rest. The owl had two letters, one bearing a Ministry seal, and the other in the emerald ink of a Hogwarts correspondence. She took them both, clutching them to her chest. 

“Got your results, eh?” Oswald asked, making his way down the path towards the cottage. She nodded, and grinned when Oswald waved a letter of his own in response. 

“Open them together?” she asked.

“On three?” Oz replied. 

“One,” Olwyn started, sliding her fingernail under the purple wax of the Ministry seal. 

“Two,” Oswald continued, doing the same to his own letter. 

“Three!” they cried in unison, ripping open the seals. A very official looking list stared back at her. Olwyn skipped over the nonsense about the examiners and the grading scale, and searched out the list of grades. 

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results 

Olwyn Hawthorne

Transfiguration - A

Charms - E

Potions - O

Astronomy - A

Defense Against the Dark Arts - E

History of Magic - E

Herbology - O

Arithmancy - O

Ancient Runes - O

Olwyn glanced up at Oswald, who was staring at his letter with a rather stupid look on his face. 

“Alright, there?” she asked. Oswald frowned. 

“What is it,  _ arth euraidd _ ?” Aunt Mercy asked from her spot leaning against the doorframe. 

“I got it,” Oswald mumbled, seemingly still in shock, “I actually got it.”

“You got the teaching position, you mean?” Olwyn pressed, and Oswald nodded. Olwyn laughed and threw her arms around his neck. Oswald stumbled and blinked and slowly wrapped his arms around her in return. Olwyn knew it was because she wasn’t usually fond of such affection, but this, this was a good day. This was the day that their plans had come to fruition, and suddenly, the hope of fulfilling that last, desperate promise to her father didn’t seem so farfetched. 

She did open the letter from Hogwarts; it only said what she thought it might. It offered her a place in the sixth year, starting that 1 September, and included a list of books and supplies that she would require to attend. It was the final confirmation. She, Olwyn Potter, was going to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

  
  



	3. Part One: Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding this chapter early, as this next week will be a bit chaotic for me, and I'd prefer to have it out earlier rather than later. 
> 
> We've officially arrived at Hogwarts. Hope you like it!
> 
> Blue

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was abuzz with life when Olwyn arrived, shortly before ten-thirty on the first of September, 1977. Aunt Mercy had Apparated her there, as Oswald had gone up to the school a week prior, after he had taken her to get all her supplies in the London Wizarding district of Diagon Alley. Aunt Mercy had looked rather green as soon as they arrived, and despite the crisp weather, she had drawn her cloak even tighter around her. Olwyn had told her she should leave only a moment later, and Aunt Mercy had shot her a grateful look before kissing her forehead and making her promise to write. Then, it was just Olwyn and her trunk, facing the bright red steam train on their own. She hoisted her trunk up the steps, glad for the feather-weight charms Oz had put on it before he left. She tugged it along, hoping not to catch the brass fastening on the skirts and robes of the students she pushed past. She was wearing a slightly more updated robe today, in a somber grey, at least, so she didn’t attract quite so many stares as she had during the OWLs. 

Everytime she passed a compartment, she would pray for it to be empty, but every time, there were some variety of students already in occupancy. She was nearing the end of the train when she finally decided she ought to just suck it up and try one of the less crowded compartments. The next one, she told herself, the next one that doesn’t seem too busy, that’s the one I’ll try. 

The compartment to her left contained only two girls, who seemed around her own age, and so Olwyn took a deep breath (in through the nose, out through the mouth) and slid the door open. Both girls looked up as she did. One had sheets of smooth, dark hair and large blue eyes that seemed to have a sort of dazed expression. The other girl was far sharper, with light brown eyes and reddish brown hair curled away from her face and cut with a fashionable fringe. Their stares made Olwyn’s tongue feel like lead in her mouth.

“Erm,” Olwyn muttered, cursing her sudden shyness, “May I sit with you? It seems rather...full, elsewhere.” She cringed at the sound of her own voice, trying to fight the blush she could feel crawling up her cheeks. 

The girl with the fringe smiled brightly, though, and beckoned her into their compartment. “Of course you can,” she said, standing up to help Olwyn lift her trunk into the overhead space. “You’re the new transfer, aren’t you?” she continued, once they were both seated again. “My name is Lucinda Rosier, but everyone calls me Lucy. I insist on it, in fact, because Lucinda is a horrible old lady name, don’t you agree?” All of this was said very quickly, and it left Olwyn blinking at her, unsure whether it was politer to agree with her or not. 

“Don’t answer that,” the other girl said, tucking her hair behind her ear, “Lucy likes to ask that whenever she meets new people; there’s no right answer.” The brunette smiled, dimples appearing in both her cheeks. “I’m Pandora Birdwhistle, by the way, and I don’t mind if you call me Pandora.” 

Lucy huffed, blowing her fringe up. “You’re no fun, Pan, it’s not like I meant anything by asking. It’s not a mean question, is it?” Lucy turned her doe eyes on Olwyn, who coughed. 

“It’s a bit tricky,” she admitted. “I’m Olwyn. Olwyn Hawthorne.” 

Both girls gasped at the revelation of her family name. Pandora was staring with interest now, the dazed look evaporating in her intensity; Lucy had a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were impossibly wider. 

“Like…” Lucy started, “Like the Hawthorne family? Like  _ the _ Hawthorne family?” 

Olwyn shrugged. “We usually refer to ourselves as a clan, but yes.” 

“So you grew up in the Grove?” Pandora asked, leaning forward. Olwyn nodded. “What’s it like?” Pandora pressed, almost falling out of her seat. Olwyn hesitated. She wasn’t supposed to speak of the Grove to outsiders; it was one of the Solemn Vows every clan member took. But she wasn’t sure how to explain that to these girls. Lucy seemed to spot her dilemma more quickly than Olwyn could think of a way to solve it. 

“Ugh, Pan,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, “You’re such a Ravenclaw sometimes. Leave the girl alone. What I really want to know is if you saw how fit Bast looks this year.” Lucy giggled and Pandora rolled her eyes and the tense moment was gone. 

Lucy and Pandora, as it turned out, were both in the sixth year, although in different Houses. Lucy was a Slytherin while Pandora was in Ravenclaw. Not that it mattered much, they both insisted, because they’d been friends since they were babies, and silly things like House alliances would never get between them. Well, Lucy had admitted, except maybe on the Quidditch field. They told Olwyn all about Hogwarts and who the strictest professors were and which ghosts could keep secrets if you needed them to and the rumors that surrounded the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. The hours seemed to fly by as they hurtled through the English countryside, and despite having a book in her bag, Olwyn never needed to fill a silence. By the time they were changing into their school robes, she found herself hoping that she would be in either Ravenclaw or Slytherin, so she could be with one of them.

Olwyn hadn’t really given much thought to which House she would be in. She knew what they were, of course. Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw for the intellectual, Hufflepuff for the loyal, and Slytherin for the ambitious; her father had told her stories about his own days at Hogwarts ever since she was a little girl. She never thought she would actually be standing off the Great Hall, waiting anxiously for the Headmaster to announce her so that she could be Sorted into whichever House fit her best. The Great Hall was beautiful, she reminded herself, and tried to focus on that rather than the hundreds of eyes that would be staring at her as soon as the doors opened. From inside the hall, she could hear the name “Zaxley,” called, and she knew they had to be at the end of the list. Soon, it would be her turn. She wiped her palms on her wool skirt and tried not to be sick. Oswald is at the High Table, she reminded herself, and Lucy and Pandora are a part of that crowd. All too soon, the door opened. 

“Joining us in the sixth year,” Professor Dumbledore was saying from a gilded stand at the front of the Hall, “We have Miss Olwyn Hawthorne. Miss Hawthorne, please step forward to be Sorted into your House.” Olwyn moved into the Hall on autopilot, trying to ignore the wave of whispers which had picked up at the mention of her name. She spotted Oswald at the High Table, sat between a heavyset man with a thick moustache and pale, petite woman with a very sleek ponytail. Oswald gave her a smile, and Olwyn tried to smile back. She was fairly certain she only managed to look ill. 

Professor McGonagall was waiting beside a three-legged stool, a wizard’s hat clenched in her hand. Olwyn took a seat on the stool, and sighed with the fabric of the Hat blocked out her view of the Hall. 

_ Very curious, _ came a voice in her ear. Olwyn jumped.  _ Sorry to startle you, my dear, but your case is very unique. I’ve never seen a time traveller from the future. It’s usually the other way around. _

Yes, Olwyn thought in response, it’s always much easier to travel forward than to travel back. Fewer complications. My father taught me that. 

_ Ah, yes _ , the Hat replied,  _ A Potter. That would usually mean Gryffindor, but I don’t think that’s quite right for you. No, with a mind like yours, and that single-minded drive, better be  _ “SLYTHERIN!” 

Olwyn blinked as the Hat was pulled off her head. The table draped in green and silver was clapping. She could make out Lucy’s grin, and made a beeline for the seat next to her. 

“Oh, budge up, Bast,” Lucy was saying Olwyn reached the table. The boy she was speaking to, Bast, gave her a lopsided grin before sliding further along the bench. “Sit here, Olwyn!” Lucy cried, patting the space next to her. Olwyn dropped down gratefully. Up at the front of the Hall, the Headmaster was giving a few notices before the feast appeared, but none of the surrounding Slytherins seemed inclined to listen to them.

“So, you’re the Hawthorne,” the boy sitting across from Lucy drawled. He was resting his chin on his fist and staring at her with lazy eyes, the same shade as Lucy’s light brown. His hair was the same reddish-brown, too, and something about his nose and mouth reminded her of Lucy. The boy grinned, as if he could sense her thoughts. “I’m Evan Rosier,” he said, by way of explanation. Lucy rolled her eyes. 

“He’s my twin brother,” she explained, “And a pain in the arse.” She stuck her tongue out at her brother, whose only retort was to widen his grin. “That’s Bast, sitting next to you.”

Olwyn turned to her left. The boy who had moved to make room for her gave her a little salute. “Rabastan Lestrange,” he said, “But if you call me Rabastan, I’ll have to kill you.” Olwyn smiled back, although a little unsurely. She knew the name Rabastan Lestrange, and although he might be joking about killing now, one day he would be an actual murderer.

“Don’t mind Bast,” Lucy said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “He thinks he’s got a sense of humor.” 

“You wound me, Luce, you truly do.” 

“Oh, shove it.” Lucy glared at Bast. Bast pouted back. Olwyn felt very uncomfortable about being in the middle. 

“Haven’t you two grown out of flirting yet?” came a posh drawl from directly across the table. Olwyn glanced at the boy sitting across from her and almost gasped. It was the boy from the OWLs, the one with the silver eyes. He was openly staring at her now, but his gaze was assessing in a way it hadn’t been before. “Regulus Black,” he said, offering her a polite nod. He didn’t smile, but no one around them seemed surprised by that. 

“Olwyn Hawthorne,” she replied. Regulus hummed. She would have said more, but with a pop, their plates filled with food. 

“So,” Evan said, once they’d all served themselves, “The new Runes professor is also called Hawthorne. Relation?’ 

“My older brother, actually,” Olwyn admitted. Lucy whistled. 

“Makes me rather sad I didn’t take Ancient Runes this year,” she sighed. Evan groaned. 

“Don’t be disgusting, Lu,” he moaned, waving his fork at his sister as if he could ward off all thoughts of Lucy being attracted to anyone. Lucy rolled her eyes, but let the subject drop as she took a dainty bite of roast potato.

“I know you’re new to the Wizarding World,” Lucy continued after she swallowed, “So let me fill you in on your new yearmates, at the very least. That one there, with the glasses,” she gestured at a rather plain brunette girl with thick hornrimmed glasses, “That’s Matilda Selwyn. She’s polite enough, but definitely not interested in making friends. Top of our year, though, that one. Further down, you’ll see the bottle blonde and the brunette with her hair permed. That’s Georgiana Talksalot and Araminta Abernathy. Horrible,” Lucy sniffed, “Not worth the breath, talking to those two. I’m glad you’ll be in the dorm room, now, because Salazar knows, I could use some relief.” 

“They don’t like Lu,” Evan interjected, “And Lu doesn’t like them. Never has, never will.” He shrugged. Bast nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t be so harsh,” Regulus said, “Abernathy’s father owns a cosmetics company and Talksalot’s mother sells gowns. In a shop.” Bast snorted through his nose.

“No need to go posh bastard on us, Reg, you’re not at home anymore,” he commented. Regulus only raised a dark brow. He didn’t comment further, though. Lucy continued her introduction of their yearmates. 

“For boys, there’s also Mathias Avery, dumb as a rock, but a whizz on a broom. He’s on the Quidditch team with Evan and Regulus, but he plays Beater. Oh, and that one next to him is Antoine Mulciber.” Lucy shivered. “He’s a total creep, avoid him wherever possible. I guess that brings us to notable Ravenclaws.” Lucy turned around to wave at the blue and bronze table, and Olwyn could see Pandora waving back. “We hang out with Pan whenever we can manage it, of course,” she explained, “But we also hang out with a boy named Barty, Barty Crouch Jr. He’s also on the Quidditch team, but for Ravenclaw. Oh, and sometimes he brings along Auggie Rookwood, who is nice enough, but a total dweeb once you get him going.” Lucy beamed.

“And that’s about it,” Evan concluded, “For decent sixth years, that is.” Regulus glanced up from his beef Wellington and caught Olwyn’s eye. She only barely managed to avoid choking on a bit of carrot. As she took a deep drink of pumpkin juice, she could have sworn she saw him smile. 

  
  



	4. Part One: Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Whoops, my chapter was longer than intended? I guess it could be worse.
> 
> I hope my characterisation of Regulus works well for you guys, as he's one of my favourite characters in the series. 
> 
> My concern about timing was unwarranted, and I know I'd said I was going to stick to once-a-week posts, but I may put up chapters more often, I'm not quite sure yet.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the first semester at Hogwarts!

_ Aunt Mercy, _

_ I’ve arrived safely at Hogwarts, as I’m sure you could have guessed. You were right, I was sorted into Slytherin House. I’ve already made friends with one of my housemates; we met on the train. Well, I say that I made friends with her, but I suppose, more accurately, she made friends with me. Her name is Lucy. She had a twin brother, also in Slytherin, and between the two of them and their friends, I’ve almost feel as though I’ve been adopted. I miss the Grove already, if I’m being honest, if only for the peace and quiet the trees bring. Nonetheless, I have been practicing my meditations every morning and just before I fall asleep, as you’ve instructed. I hope you’ve gotten everything you needed for the winter and that the latest wanderer was safely returned. Best wishes for Mabon, should I not hear from you before. _

_ Olwyn _

Classes would begin on the Monday after they had arrived in Hogwarts, and the weekend had given Olwyn time to sort out a few things for sure. One, that both Lucy and Evan Rosier were more charming and socially skilled than Olwyn could ever dream of being. Two, that Bast and Lucy were constantly flirting. Constantly. Three, that Hogwarts castle was far bigger than she’d first assumed and it was much easier to get lost than was really reasonable. And finally, four, that Regulus Black was probably one of the most interesting people she had ever met. 

Items one through three had been easy enough to figure out, but number four...well, Regulus was quiet, for a start, and he seemed smart. He read a lot, and never really deigned to interact much with his friends, beyond the occasional witty comment, but they were still most assuredly his friends. It puzzled Olwyn; she wondered what kind of power he had over them. Lucy had assured her it wasn’t a power, but rather, that most of them had known Regulus since they were kids, and that he could be really kind and clever, once one got close enough. Nothing Lucy said about him seemed to line up with what Olwyn had seen of the haughty, well-mannered pureblood. Olwyn decided that that would have to wait for later.

On Sunday afternoon, she went to her brother’s office for tea and a catch-up. It was the longest time she’d spent apart from Oswald since arriving in 1977 almost six months ago. His office was in a far-flung corner of the fourth floor, tucked away from the usual hustle and bustle of the castle. It would have to be sought out, and Olwyn preferred it that way. 

“Olwyn,” Oz greeted as she walked in, looking up from the stack of parchment on his desk that she assumed was his lesson plan. Olwyn sighed in response and collapsed into the chair across from him. “Going that well already?” 

Olwyn groaned. “Lucy said that the other girls in our dorm were horrible, but I didn’t expect her to be so right!” 

Oswald gave a commiserate grimace. “Living with other people is hard,” he agreed, waiting for Olwyn to continue on to what was really bothering her. 

“It’s not just that,” Olwyn admitted, her eyes wandering to the window and the view of the Forbidden Forest below. “I miss my parents,” she said, after a moment of silence, “I keep thinking of what they would say, what they would think of me being here, if things are the same as when they were here.” She found her voice choked out by the sob working its way up her throat. Oz stood up from behind his desk and wrapped her in a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. 

“I keep,” Olwyn sobbed, “I keep thinking of the last time I saw my dad. He, it was...the Grove was on fire and Mama had disappeared and I couldn’t find her, but Dad and I, we were in the woods, by the hawthorn tree. I’ve never been so scared, Oz, never in my life. He made me promise, made me promise that if it worked, that I would do my best to save everyone.” Olwyn gave up trying to speak and just wept into Oswald’s shoulder. 

“They’re proud of you,  _ cariad _ ,” he whispered, but Olwyn only sobbed louder and shook her head. “No, hey, hey. Olwyn. They are proud of you, because you’re doing everything you can. It’s not going to change overnight, you know. Stopping a war will take time. You need to live your life, too. I’m sure your mother and father would want that for you, most of all.” 

Olwyn clung tighter to his shirt and tried to believe him. Later, when she returned to the common room with her eyes still puffy and ringed in red, no one said anything about it. 

Classes started on Monday. They were going to be rigorous, Olwyn could tell, but Lucy claimed that was just the standard, now that they were officially at NEWT level. She had Transfiguration, Defense, and Charms with all of her friends, Potions with Regulus and Evan, as well as the Ravenclaws, and Herbology wth Evan and the Hufflepuffs. She hadn’t continued History of Magic or Astronomy at the NEWT level, which left only Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. She shared Arithmancy with Lucy and Bast, and so by the time Wednesday afternoon and her first double-period of Ancient Runes rolled around, she was fairly sure at least one of her newfound friends would be in the class with her.

“I wish I was taking Ancient Runes,” Lucy pouted at lunch, “Your brother, Olwyn, he’s so dishy.” She giggled at Olwyn’s disturbed expression. From over Lucy’s shoulder, Evan pretended to vomit. 

“He’s my brother, Luce,” Olwyn admonished, “That would be like saying Evan was fit.” 

“Yes, but,” Lucy whined, “Evan’s not fit, so I’d know you were winding me up.”

“Hey!” Lucy didn’t even flinch when Evan pulled her ponytail, merely casting a disgusted look over her shoulder. 

“Well,” Regulus piped up from his usual spot opposite Olwyn, “As disturbing as this conversation has been, I’ve got to get to class.” 

“Oh yeah,” Bast said, finally lifting his head out of his plate of bangers and mash, “What class do you have now?” 

“Ancient Runes, actually. Double period.” 

Olwyn perked up at that. “Me too,” she said, gathering her bag from under the table. “Wait just a second and I’ll walk with you?” Regulus didn’t say anything, but he didn’t walk away, so Olwyn assumed he would wait for her. 

As soon as they made it out of the Great Hall, Olwyn realized her problem. “You do know where the Runes classroom is, don’t you?” she asked hopefully. 

Regulus quirked his brow at her. “You don’t know where your own brother’s classroom is?” he drawled, and Olwyn might have been offended, but there was something like amusement in his grey eyes, so she held her tongue and shrugged, instead. “Well, luckily for some, I do. I haven’t been taking Runes since third year for nothing, after all.” Regulus gave her a sideways glance as she fell into step beside him. “You are actually good at the subject, aren’t you? Not just due to your brother’s inevitable nepotism?” 

Olwyn huffed. “I’ll have you know, Regulus Black,” she tutted imperiously, “That I am excellent at Ancient Runes. I’d even go so far as to say it’s my best subject, and we all witnessed how Slughorn was falling over himself at the sight of my Draught of Living Death, didn’t we?” She turned up her nose imperiously at him, mimicking his own demeanour. Regulus made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and when Olwyn looked up, he was biting his lip so hard the skin was turning white. “Are you,” she squinted her eyes, “Are you laughing, Regulus Black?” 

Regulus fought with his mouth for a moment before he managed to speak. “So what if I am?” he said, an overdone imitation of his usual haughty tone that Olwyn found alarmingly endearing. 

“Shocking,” she muttered, “Truly shocking. Must call the presses at once, might still make the evening paper.” Regulus elbowed her, knocking her off balance just a little, before dashing up the set of stairs between the third and fourth floors. Olwyn followed him, trying to hide a smile.

As it turned out, when they arrived at the Ancient Runes classroom, they were the only Slytherins in the class. Furthermore, neither Pandora nor Barty seemed to have bothered with it, so even though all four houses were combined into one class, it was a class full of strangers. Olwyn didn’t have time to panic, however, as Regulus grabbed her elbow and led her to the leftmost desk in the front row, by the window. Regulus took the other half of the paired desk for himself, and set about gathering his note-taking supplies. 

Olwyn snorted as he pulled a lavishly dyed eagle feather quill from his bag. “Of course you have the most pretentious quill known to wizardkind,” she muttered.

“Excuse you,” Regulus said, looking offended, “I could have an augrey feather quill. That would be far more pretentious, in fact.” 

Olwyn had opened her mouth to retaliate when the door of the classroom was flung open and Oswald strode into the room, his dark blue robes whipping around his calves. “I really hope you like the person you’re sitting with,” he called, “Because they’re going to be your partner for the rest of the semester!” 

Regulus gave her a sideways glance, contemplating. “Let’s hope you’re as good at Runes as you claim,” he murmured. 

It was a Monday afternoon in the third week of term, and the Slytherin and Ravenclaw sixth years shared a free period. This was, of course, meant to be spent studying, and so the usual suspects were gathered around two tables in an out-of-the-way section of the library. Olwyn was hellbent on completing her Transfiguration essay that afternoon, and she knew Lucy and Bast felt the same. Evan was far more concerned about his upcoming Defense practical in the last period of the day, and he was frantically flipping through duelling textbooks while Barty whispered fervently about tactics and rules, complete with hand gestures. Pandora seemed perfectly content to work on her dream journal for Divination beside them, although the constant hissing was beginning to get on Olwyn’s nerves. Next to her, Regulus sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing the usually flawless coiff. 

“Barty,” he muttered threateningly, “Stop this impression of a kettle and leave Evan to his failure, thank you very much.” Barty snorted and Evan spared just enough time from his frantic perusal of the book to give Regulus a pained look. 

“Erm, sorry,” they were interrupted by a podgy little third year with a blue and bronze tie. He was holding a basket of letters, printed on cream parchment and tied with dark purple ribbons. Next to Olwyn, Regulus sighed. 

“You might as well leave the whole basket, Hodgson,” he said, “We’ll sort them out amongst ourselves.” The third year looked horribly grateful, and set the basket of letters on the table before scurrying off to do whatever it was third years did these days. Regulus pulled a letter out of the basket, then rifled through and selected another. He held onto the first, but passed the second to Olwyn, who stared at the rich parchment in confusion. She opened the letter to find that it was, in fact, an invitation. 

“Who on earth would want to go to something called a Slug Club?” she muttered. Regulus huffed a breath next to her. She was beginning to learn that this was the closest thing to a laugh he would allow himself in public. 

“It’s run by Professor Slughorn, of course,” he explained, “It’s really a sort of social club. He’ll invite students he thinks will do well, and some former members of the Club who have gone on to do interesting things, and his office will be done up and there will be cake and drinks and dancing.” He shrugged. “It’s alright, really. We all usually go.” Around the table, she could see that all of her friends had picked out invitations addressed to them. “It’s good networking,” Regulus finished. 

“And an excellent chance to dress up!” Lucy added. Olwyn noticed the appreciative glance Bast was throwing at her friend, though she couldn’t imagine she did. “We’ll get ready together, Olwyn, you and Pandora and I. It’s great fun.” She gave that beautific smile, and Olwyn found herself nodding along. Knowing Lucy, she most likely wouldn’t have any choice in the matter. 

A brisk Saturday morning in October saw Lucy and Olwyn perched in the highest row of the Quidditch stands. Above them, Regulus and Evan soared around on their brooms, Evan tossing the Quaffle around between his fellow Chasers, while Regulus climbed much higher in his search for the Snitch. When Olwyn had admitted to having never seen a game of Quidditch, or really, even understanding how it was played, she’d been treated to an hour and a half of rambling Quidditch highlights and tactics and famous games from both Evan and Regulus, working in tandem. She thought it was probably the most she had ever heard Regulus speak at one time, but she had learned not to question anything Quidditch-related with the boys. Lucy had rolled her eyes and called them Quidditch nuts, but she had also been the one to ask Olwyn if she wouldn’t rather study outside at the pitch so they could watch the practice. 

“What do you think of Bast?” Lucy piped up, pulling Olwyn away from her Charms homework. 

“What do you mean, what do I think of Bast?” Olwyn repeated. “You mean, like, what do I think of him as a person, or do I think he likes you?” 

“Olwyn,” Lucy squealed, blushing furiously to the roots of her reddish hair. “I do not like him! He’s just so annoying, I can’t help but retort.”

Olwyn squinted. “Luce,” she pointed out, “I never said you liked him.” 

Lucy’s blush was certainly impressive. She dropped the conversation after that. Olwyn was pretty sure that Lucy liked Bast, and also that Bast liked Lucy, and that anyone with two eyes could see it. Well, maybe not Evan. But anyone else. Olwyn stared up at the players, her eyes finding Regulus, still flitting around high above the rest. She leaned forward and planted her chin on her fist. 

Despite her misgivings about the name, when the time came for the Slug Club dinner, Olwyn actually found herself rather excited. It was, after all, something like a networking event, and what better opportunity could she ask for? After all, if she was going to influence the Wizengamot in any sort of meaningful way, she was going to have to get to know people. She grimaced in the mirror at that thought. 

“Why are you frowning?” Lucy called, “You look great!”

“You’re just saying that because you dressed me,” Olwyn shot back. Lucy grinned and flicked her hair over her shoulder. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong, though, does it?” she teased. “We ought to get going or the boys will leave without us.” 

Arm in arm, Lucy and Olwyn made their way to the common room where Evan, Bast, and Regulus were waiting. 

“At last,” Evan groaned, hauling himself up from his armchair, “I thought I might die waiting.”

“Looking good takes time,” Lucy retorted, sticking her pert nose in the air.

“Then what were you doing in there?” Evan continued, shaking his head. 

Lucy gave a disgusted scoff and smacked her brother on the arm. “Olwyn and I look very nice, thank you very much. Shows what you know.”

“Olwyn looks nice, I’ll give you that.” Evan winked at her, his eyes sparkling. Lucy stamped her foot indignantly but Olwyn just wrinkled her nose.

“Thanks, Ev,” she muttered. 

“I think you look beautiful as ever, Luce,” Bast tried, a smarmy grin on his face. 

“No one asked for your opinion,” she shot back, but Olwyn could tell she was blushing. Olwyn glanced at Regulus and he lifted his eyes skyward in response.

“Time to go,” he decided, rising from his own armchair. 

Olwyn had never been to Slughorn’s office, but she was fairly certain it didn’t usually look like this. It was dominated by a round table, the halls hung in velvet curtains and the only light coming from a rather elaborate crystal chandelier hanging low over the table. Olwyn took a seat between Lucy and Regulus. When she turned her head, she caught sight of Pan and Barty taking two chairs near the Rosier twins, and Bast was on Regulus’ other side. Of the remaining ten or so guests, she vaguely recognized a Gryffindor seventh year and what she thought might be a fourth year Ravneclaw. Everyone else was a mystery. Olwyn clenched her fists as she felt the writhing anxiety in her stomach build. This was a bad idea. She would only make a fool of herself, this-. No. She could do this. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She needed to do this. 

“Welcome, welcome,” Slughorn said as he bustled into the room, his massive moustache twitching, “Welcome to the first of what ought to be many nice little dinners, between talented friends!” Olwyn glanced at Regulus, but his gaze was set directly ahead, a veil pulled over his half-lidded grey eyes. He seemed bored, but in that pretentious way only a wealthy pureblood could manage. It was going to be a long night. 

“I give up,” Regulus admitted, setting down his quill. “The Ogham Fews have defeated me. For tonight, at least.” 

Olwyn snorted. “I thought you might never admit it,” she teased, looking over his messy sheet of mangled strings of Fews. Regulus made a face, a far more relaxed gesture than he usually allowed himself. 

“Are you going to Sluggy’s Halloween party?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue. Olwyn snorted.

“Yes,” she admitted, “But under protest.” 

Regulus gave her an odd look. “You practice the Old Ways, then?” 

“Yeah,” Olwyn shrugged, “We always have. Your family does?” Regulus sighed and stretched his interlocked palms towards the ceiling. 

“We do,” he yawned, “Grandfather likes to talk of it as a conservation effort, although I do think he really believes in it all. We’ve attended the major holidays every year for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s good,” Olwyn said, “I was starting to believe that no one outside the Grove took it seriously. I mean, I can understand just doing a little private offering for Mabon, but no one should skip a Samhain candle, at least.” 

Regulus smiled at her, a real, genuine smile, the first one he had ever given her. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. The clock at the front of the library chimed, and Olwyn groaned. 

“We really should get back,” she admitted, even though a part of her wanted to sit here with Regulus in the quiet library for the rest of the night. 

“We should,” he agreed, gathering up his scattered foolscap. He opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something else, but no other comment was forthcoming. 

The Slug Club Halloween party was bound to be offensive. Olwyn maintained this, no matter how Lucy tried to convince her that it would be fun. 

“First of all,” Olwyn complained as Lucy set her brush to Olwyn’s hair, “Halloween isn’t even a real holiday. It should be Samhain, and Slughorn should know that.”

“Yes, yes,” Lucy muttered, sifting through her seemingly endless stock of lipsticks, “We know, you still practice the old holidays, Halloween is sacrilege, blah, blah.” 

“It is!” Olwyn insisted. She was mad about it, and she had a right to be. Just because wizardkind didn’t practice the Old Ways like they should, didn’t mean that it wasn’t important. “Samhain is about reconnecting with the spirits of loved ones and the thinning of the veil between life and death! You can have some really good interaction with the dead, if you do it right.” 

Pandora made a noise of interest from her position on Lucy’s bed, but Lucy just scoffed. “If I wanted a connection with the dead, I’d go chat up the Bloody Baron.” 

Olwyn’s face must have betrayed something, because Lucy clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh Salazar, Olwyn, I never even asked if you had anyone you wanted to talk to. That was crass of me.”

Olwyn shrugged. “It’s fine,” she said, “You didn’t know. I do have people to contact. My parents.” 

Lucy bit her lip and wrapped her arms around Olwyn. Pandora slid off the bed to join their embrace. “I’m sorry,” Lucy whispered. 

Olwyn sighed. She couldn’t feel sad about her parents now. Besides, if they were reachable, she and Oswald would find them tonight. And if they weren’t, well. There was nothing she could do about that now. “It’s okay, Luce,” Olwyn sighed, bringing her own arms up to return her friends’ hugs. “Oswald and I will do the summoning ceremony tonight, so it’ll be okay. Let’s go to the party.”

The boys were waiting for them in the common room, wearing dress robes and polished shoes, with their hair swept away from their faces. Bast immediately made a comment about how radiant Lucy looked, and she deflected it with scorn, and the two were off to the races, as usual. Some things not even fancy dress could change. 

“Ready to go?” Regulus asked, coming up behind her. She noted, with a roll of her eyes, how his dark grey tie matched the color of the cocktail dress Lucy had loaned her, and that even when she was in heels, he towered over her. 

“If we can separate the lovebirds,” she joked, jerking her thumb towards Bast and Lucy. 

Regulus rolled his eyes. Before he moved away, he leant forward and whispered in her ear, “May your Samhain candle burn bright, Olwyn Hawthorne.” Before she could get a word out, he was already stepping between Lucy and Bast, irritation etched into every line of his regal bearing. Olwyn pretended that a shiver did not run down her spine. 

She and Oswald had done the ceremony correctly on Samhain, but there was no response. Olwyn tried not to let herself dwell on that as November moved towards December. There was no reason that she’d be able to reach her parents she tried to tell herself, parents who hadn’t even been born yet; it didn’t make any sense. Still, it pained her to think that they lived only in her memory. She sighed and lay back against her pillows. She had taken that morning to relax in the dorm, alone. She had had an interesting conversation with Oswald last night, and she wanted time to think it over. She brought out her red leather journal, and made a note of the things that had happened recently. Professor Dumbledore is called to the Wizengamot, 23 October 1977. Mulciber is accused of torturing a fourth year Hufflepuff, muggleborn, Death Eater (?) 2 November 1977. Oswald joins the Order of the Phoenix, 7 November 1977. It’s this last entry that makes her pause. He had told her that he’d joined up with Dumbledore’s counter-rebellion group only just last night, even though the decision was made two weeks prior, on the seventh. She frowned a little. She wished he’d told her sooner. 

The Order of the Phoenix was something she had heard a lot about growing up. Her parents had had a semblance of a plan, if they managed to get their research to work just right. Dad had always said, though, that the Order was nearly destroyed during the First War, that they had been losing the fight against the Dark Lord when Grandpa Harry destroyed him when he was only a baby. And that worried Olwyn, because she knew it was dangerous, and she knew it was important, but she had somehow hoped to keep Oswald out of all this. He was only at Hogwarts because of her, after all. If she hadn’t appeared one day and dragged him into the wider Wizarding world with her, he would still be safe in the Grove. Something that tasted like guilt settled into her stomach. 

Somewhere along the way, she had stopped thinking of Oswald as just her pseudo-brother.

The week before they were due to leave on holiday, an invitation arrived for Olwyn at breakfast. It was ornate, the lettering embossed and gilded, the coat of arms at the top set in almost lacquered relief against the snowy white parchment. She stared for a moment, making sure she was reading her own name correctly. Next to her, Lucy had received one, too. And Evan, she realized, and Bast, and in fact, it was just Regulus who didn’t have one. He seemed to sense her staring, as he glanced up. 

“Well, open it,” he said, gesturing to the invitation. Olwyn scrunched her nose up, but slid her finger under the glossy black wax seal. 

_ The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black cordially invites you, Olwyn Hawthorne, to the 238th Annual Black Family New Year’s Ball.  _

_ 31 December.  _

_ Cocktails at eight in the Grand Ballroom of Nights Folly, Hampshire.  _

Olwyn stared at the invitation for a moment, then looked up at Regulus, who didn’t even have the grace to blush, not even a little. “Your family has a New Year’s Ball. In an actual ballroom,” she said. 

“We get invited every year,” Lucy points out, “The Blacks invite a lot of people.”

“Don’t be surprised, Olwyn,” Bast drawled, “Everyone knows the Blacks are richer than Camelot.” 

“I’ll be surprised if I want to, thanks, Bast,” she retorted, but she tucked the invitation into her bag anyway. She pretended she didn’t notice Regulus watching her do it. 

Later, when it was just the two of them in the library, studying for the last Ancient Rune test of the semester, Regulus leaned over to her. “You will come, won’t you?” he asked, and Olwyn was taken aback by the sincerity of his request, and in such a private place as their own little corner of the library. It was startling, for someone as consistently droll as Regulus, to be asking such a thing, and it took her a moment to process that he was waiting for some form of response.

“You want me to?” she asked. Regulus hesitated for a moment, a furrow appearing between his dark brows. 

“Yes,” he decided, “I do.” 

“Well, good,” Olwyn replied, praying she wasn’t blushing, “Because the way Lucy has been going on about ball gowns, I’m not sure I’ve got a choice in the matter.” 

“Well, that will be that settled, then,” Regulus drawled, back to his usual haughty tone and lidded eyes. She grinned at him and he allowed the corners of his mouth to quirk up, which Olwyn would take as a win. Sincere Regulus was a strange creature, she decided, but not an unwelcome one. 

_ Olwyn, _

_ I was glad to hear you think your studies are coming along well, not that I really had any doubt. Oswald tells me that you’re doing very well in class, and that you’re partnered with a young pureblood wizard by the name of Regulus Black. Could this be the friend you study Runes with at all hours, perhaps? A midnight rendez-vous in the library is just the thing, I’ve always said. Do be careful over winter break; I don’t know if Oswald has told you yet where you’re staying, but you may need it, if I’ve been told correctly. Make Oswald do the Yule log, if you’d rather not, as he certainly knows how. _

_ Your Aunt Mercy _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, now we're really starting to get the ball rolling. Next time, we see many more familiar faces....
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> -Blue


	5. Part One: Five

_ Blodyn gwyn, _

_ Invited to a ball, you say? A proper Cinderella, I see. It’s a wonder what a few months in a castle and the attention of purebloods will do for a girl, I suppose. I’m only teasing, of course. To answer your question about colour schemes, I’ve always thought green was a rather fetching one. I’m sure your friends will have plenty of opinions. Let me know how it goes over Yule, cariad. _

_ Aunt Mercy _

Oswald was waiting for her on the platform when the Hogwarts Express pulled into King’s Cross Station. Olwyn grappled with her trunk, forcing it down the stairs. 

“Right, well,” she turned to Lucy and Pan. Lucy rolled her eyes and threw her arms around Olwyn’s shoulders. Olwyn laughed, but hugged her back. Pan stepped in when Lucy had pulled away, and Olwyn was grateful that the two girls had essentially adopted her on her first train ride. She wasn’t sure she would’ve managed the entire semester without them. 

“Don’t cry too much, Luce,” Evan remarked as he jumped the last step and landed on the platform. Behind him, Bast was rolling his eyes. “It won’t even be that long,” Evan continued, “Because I know you’re going to do girly dress things in Diagon, and then we’ll all be going to the Blacks’ Ball, so really, I’d say Olwyn won’t be able to get away from you.” Evan grinned when Lucy smacked his arm. 

“Well,” Bast said, “My brother and his wife are staying with us for the holidays, so I may have run mad by the time we make it to New Year’s Eve.” He grimaced and ran a hand through his fluffy dark curls. 

“Tough luck,” Regulus commented, joining them as quietly as smoke. “Cousin Bella has always been a bit of a nightmare.” 

Bast pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thanks for the reminder, Reg.”

Regulus shrugged. “I’ll see you all at Nights Folly. I’ve got to go.” Without so much as a wave, he departed, his trunk bouncing along behind him. A couple seemed to be waiting for him, both tall and dark-haired and austerely dressed in robes a little too formal for a train platform. 

“Olwyn!” Oswald called, waving his hand. 

“That’s my cue,” Olwyn muttered. She squeezed Lucy’s hand one last time. “I’ll see you in Diagon on the 22nd, don’t worry. Bye, all!” 

Oswald grinned when Olwyn trotted up to him. “I’ve got a surprise,” he said, “And I think you’ll like it. You know how I said we’d be staying at the Leaky Cauldron over break?” Olwyn nodded. “Well, now we won’t have to,” he continued, “Because we’ve been invited to stay at Pottershall.” 

Olwyn froze. Pottershall. She had never heard the name before, but the way Oz was acting...it couldn’t be the Potter family home, could it? She knew her great-grandparents had lived in a cottage in Godric’s Hollow, but maybe…. Olwyn stared up at Oz. “Do you mean…?” she trailed off. 

“Yeah,” Oswald grinned, patting her on the head, “We’re staying with the Potters.” 

Pottershall, as it turned out, was a manor house, of a sort. The style was older than the elaborate neo-gothic spires of the Victorian period, and simpler than the usual Georgian facades, but she found that it suited the name. It was a long, low building, built from a reddish-cream stone that shone almost pink in the setting sun. Ivy crept up the walls, twining around windows and balconies, reaching towards the roof. She and Oz stood just inside the iron gate, and framing the long drive up to the house was a wild English garden, full of all kinds of plants, both mundane and magical. She took a deep breath. This was Pottershall. There was a kind of magic to it that had nothing to do with spells. She grinned up at Oswald. 

“After you,” he said, grabbing her trunk. 

The door flew open just as they reached it. A man with wild black hair leaned against the lintel. “Oz, mate,” he said, “Glad you made it.” 

“Hi, Jem.” 

Oz and the man gave each other a manly sort of hug, with plenty of back-slapping and shaking. When Oz stepped back, the man’s bright hazel eyes found Olwyn. She gave an awkward little smile in response. 

“So,” the man, Jem, said, “This is your sister, I take it?” 

Olwyn nodded. “Olwyn Hawthorne, sir,” she managed. The man wrinkled his nose.

“No, no, this will never do,” he tutted, “If you call me sir, I’m afraid I can’t let you in the house. No, no, not at all.” He grinned at her, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I’m James Potter, and you can call me James. Or Jem. Or Jamie. Or Richard, if you really feel like spicing things up.” 

“Erm,” Olwyn muttered, “I may stick to James, thanks.”

“Jamie, who is it you’re torturing now?” A woman came in to view behind James, with greying hair and the same bright hazel eyes. “Oh, the Hawthornes, lovely.” The woman pushed James away and took his place. “Welcome to Pottershall,” she said, a kind smile turning the corners of her mouth up, “My name is Euphemia, I’m James’ mother. Please, don’t mind Jamie. Come right in.” Olwyn stepped over the lintel and entered the manor house that she, in another lifetime, might have called home. 

Euphemia was very kind, it seemed, and she explained where everything was as she led them up the stairs and down the long stone corridor towards their rooms. She left them to ‘get settled’, as she said, before dinner, which would be in the dining room. If they had any trouble, any trouble at all, they were to call for Dixie, who would provide them with anything they might need. 

Walking into the dining hall was a surreal experience. The only windows were set high up in the wall, which meant the sunlight had long faded from them, but there were so many candles, in candelabras and holders and set directly onto wooden sideboards that the entire room seemed to glow. At the end of a long, polished table, there sat a cluster of people. Euphemia stood when they entered. 

“Come, come,” she called, “Sit. We were just discussing the merits of the Hogwarts Express.” The other people at the table had all turned to stare at them. James was sitting to the left of the top of the table, next to a man who was most certainly his father, Fleamont Potter. A red-headed woman with soft green eyes sat next to him. Across from her sat a man with a face so familiar, Olwyn had to bite her tongue to keep herself from gasping as she and Oswald took their seats. The man she was now sitting across from eyed her with an all-too-familiar haughty gaze, his lazy, half-lidded stare a molten, stormy grey. He had the same Roman nose and full mouth, the same high cheekbones and dark brow, as Regulus did. The only differences were, perhaps, that his hair was wavy, almost curly, and he wore it long, to shoulders that were perhaps a bit broader. This was absolutely Regulus’ brother. 

“Sirius Black,” he drawled by way of greeting as Olwyn sat down. “Pleasure to meet you.” Olwyn gave him a nervous little smile. 

“Oh, don’t be a tosser,” the woman to Olwyn’s right said. “Don’t mind him,” she scoffed, turning to introduce herself. “My name is Lily Evans, I’m James’ fiancee. You must be Olwyn, right?” 

Olwyn found herself smiling back at the older woman. “Yes,” she said, “Nice to meet you.” Sirius had turned to speak to Oswald. Even his profile bore a striking resemblance to Regulus. 

“Now, now,” James tutted, “I know Sirius is handsome, but you can’t stare. He is taken, after all, as tragic as it is for the rest of us.” He blew Sirius a kiss, who fluttered his eyelashes at James in response. 

“Oh, no,” Olwyn muttered, “It’s not- I….”

Lily huffed. “Don’t be rude to the girl, Jem, not everyone thinks you’re funny.” She rolled her green eyes. At the head of the table, Lord Potter snorted. 

“You can say that again, Lily,” he chortled, clapping his son on the shoulder. James winced and pretended to be in pain. Euphemia rolled her eyes.

“Children,” she admonished, ignoring her husband’s wounded look, “It’s time for dinner.” As if on cue, three houselves popped into the room, each bearing a platter full of food, which they set in the middle of the table. Olwyn hoped the matter of her staring would be forgotten; she really didn’t want to explain that she was taken aback by how like his brother Sirius looked. If she remembered correctly, he would not take that kindly. 

When the dessert plates were cleared away, the family and their guests retired to the drawing room. Yes, seriously. Olwyn had known that tradition was important in old magical families, but this was a bit much. The drawing room itself was nice, with a large fireplace, long sofas, and swords hanging from the walls, but Olwyn was beginning to wish she could go back to her room and sleep. 

“So, Olwyn,” Lily said, “How are you finding Hogwarts?” James and Sirius had distracted Oz with a game of Expolding Snap, and Euphemia and Fleamont were talking quietly in the loveseat closest to the fire. 

“It’s a bit overwhelming, really,” Olwyn admitted. Lily laughed. 

“It is, isn’t it? I kept getting lost. I know it’s easy to do in your first year, but even by my sixth, I kept getting turned around.” 

“I think I’d probably miss every class if I wasn’t walking with at least one of my friends,” Olwyn agreed. “The benefit of following people who know where they’re going.” 

“What classes are you taking?”

“Well, I’m taking Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes.” 

“You’re taking SEVEN NEWTS?” came James’ incredulous cry from the card table. Oz snorted. 

“Tell me about it,” he laughed, “I tried to tell her it was too much, but she wouldn’t listen. Constantly in the library, Olwyn is.” 

Olwyn shrugged. “I don’t mind studying. It’s interesting.”

Lily nodded. “I always felt the same way. Like, as a muggleborn, the fact that I even got to learn magic in the first place was always so incredible to me, it made me want to work hard.”

“I could understand that.”

“Merlin help us,” Sirius moaned, “It’s attack of the nerds. I thought we’d left the bookworm crap in school.” 

“Sirius may whine about it now,” Lily said, “But when we were in school, he was actually tops in Transfig, and we all knew it.” 

“Oh, ugh,” Olwyn groaned, “I hate Transfiguration. I’m horrible at it.” 

“Don’t let those two hear you say that,” Lily giggled, “James and Sirius are absolutely brill with it. I was horrible at it too, though, don’t worry. Potions and Charms, those were my subjects.” 

“I could get behind the Potions, at least,” Olwyn agreed. “Charms is alright, too, I suppose. I kind of have to say that Ancient Runes is my favorite, though.” She tilted her head back to grin at Oswald, who rolled his eyes in response. 

“I’d hope so,” James replied, “Would be horrible to bomb your own brother’s class.” 

“Olwyn could never,” Oz said, puffing his chest out, “She’s excellent with Runes. Mostly because I’ve tutored her, but the point stands.”

“Hey!” Olwyn cried, indignant. “I’m good at Runes!”

“I never said you weren’t,” Oswald retorted, trying not to laugh. 

“Ugh,” Olwyn groaned, “Brothers.” 

Life in Pottershall was an easy adjustment. The manor was rather too big for so few people, but somehow, the inhabitants managed to fill it with Christmas cheer. The men went out and cut down a massive Christmas tree, there were snowball fights and hot chocolate, Olwyn helped Lily bake cookies, and James charmed mistletoe to follow Lily around so he could kiss her every time she happened to glance up. In no time at all, it was the day of the solstice.

Oswald and Olwyn celebrated Yule in the same way, despite the fact that they were actually decades apart. The Grove had often seemed removed from time to Olwyn, and never was that more apparent than when it came to traditional rituals. Samhain had been simple by necessity; they were both still at the school. But Yule, specifically the winter solstice, was important, and both the Hawthornes were determined to do it right. 

They collected red candles, twine, and a bowl of dried cloves from around the house, and holly, sage, and a thick log of pine wood from the grounds. Lily had asked to join them, curious about what they were doing. 

“It’s a celebration of the solstice,” Olwyn explained as she wove a wreath of holly, “And it’s a very old Wizarding tradition. Most families don’t bother with it, these days, which might be why you’ve never heard of it.” 

The Potters did not celebrate the old holidays, which wasn’t surprising, as they were generally considered a progressive sort of family, and the Old Ways were most common among purebloods. Olwyn had also explained this to Lily, who seemed confused as to why anyone would give up their religious practices so easily. 

“The tradition is thousands of years old,” Oswald laughed as he carved Runes into their Yule log, “It makes sense that it would die out in the wider world. If we hadn’t grown up in the Grove, we might not celebrate it at all.” 

“The Grove is sort of...lost to time,” Olwyn added, “And a lot of the ways we do things there are older than Myrddin and Morgana. It comes from being so isolated, I suppose.” Lily had hummed thoughtfully, and continued to push cloves into the orange in her hands. 

By the time darkness had fallen, Oswald, Olwyn, and Lily were gathered in the library, where Euphemia had let them set up their Yule altar and where they intended to pass the night. Olwyn was keeping watch at the window while Oswald bent over the Yule log in the grate. As the last rays of sun slipped from the sky, Olwyn was surprised to see Sirius slide through the door and take a seat next to Lily. The Blacks celebrated the old holidays, Regulus had told her, and so that had to mean Sirius did, too, even if he hadn’t done it properly since leaving home. 

“It’s time,” she murmured, and Oswald whispered the incantation, pushing his magic through his fingertips without the aid of a wand and igniting the Yule log. It would burn until dawn, and they would be there to see it. Olwyn took a seat on the other side of Sirius and passed him a braid of ribbon, twine, and ivy vine to wrap around his wrist. He stared at the braid for a moment, and then at her. Olwyn gave him a little smile. He returned it, and accepted the braid, wrapping it three times around his left wrist. Sirius looked much kinder when he smiled, she thought. 

On the morning of the 22nd, Olwyn was up and dressed before nine, which was a bit unusual for Pottershall. James and Lily looked up when she entered the kitchen, and James had raised his eyebrows. 

“Where are you going, all dressed up before lunchtime?” he asked. 

“Diagon Alley,” Olwyn said, plopping down at the kitchen table and pouring herself some tea. “I’m meeting my friends.” 

“Oh,” James said, a uncharacteristically serious look coming over his face. “Your Slytherin friends.” There was something in his tone that made Olwyn pause. 

“Yes,” she said slowly, “One of them is a fellow Slytherin. The other is a Ravenclaw.”

“Well,” James continued, “Be careful. You never know who could be up to something these days.” 

Olwyn stared at him. He didn’t seem to notice, taking a sip of coffee. “You do know I’m in Slytherin, right?” she asked, her question coming out far more waspishly than she’d intended. James looked up, surprised. “I eat with Slytherins, go to class with Slytherins, study and sleep and go to Quidditch games with Slytherins. Lucy is my friend. They’re my friends.” 

James was staring at her, his mouth open. Lily was staring too, but her gaze was a little more contemplative. 

“I know I’m only here because my brother is in the Order,” Olwyn said, standing up, “But I don’t like the way you seem to think it’s okay to suspect anyone who wears a green tie in school.” She had lost her appetite. Olwyn turned on her heel and walked out. 

She was near the library when Lily caught up to her. 

“Olwyn,” she said, trying to catch her jumper sleeve, “Olwyn, wait.” Olwyn did as she was asked, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the corridor. “He didn’t mean it like that,” Lily tried. 

“I think he did.” Olwyn thought back to the distrustful glares and snide comments the other Houses sometimes directed towards the Slytherins, and wondered what it would be like to be on the outside of her own House, looking in with disdain and fear. 

Lily sighed. “James had some not-so-great experiences with Slytherins, that’s all. And now, we’re trying to fight against an evil wizard whose views seem to line up so well with some of the viewpoints-”

“You don’t know that,” Olwyn cut her off. “You don’t know my friends.”

“No,” Lily admitted, “I don’t. And James doesn’t either. He shouldn’t judge people he doesn’t know, or things he can’t understand. He gets worried about people, you know? People he cares about. It makes him say some idiotic things, but I guess that’s why the Hat didn’t put him in Ravenclaw.” 

Olwyn smiled, just a little. Against her will, mind you, but the idea that James cared about her...well. “Does he really?” she asked. 

Lily’s eyes crinkled up at the corners when she smiled. “Yeah,” she said, grabbing Olwyn’s hands, “He does. And I do too. And things aren’t the best out there right now, and we just want you to be safe. I know your brother does, too. James is just a little…” Lily trailed off, making a face. 

Olwyn laughed. “He is, a bit,” she agreed. Lily smiled at her, and she smiled back. The clock chimed, and Olwyn gasped. “Oh Myrddin,” she realized, “I’ve got to go, Lucy will kill me if I’m late. Can you tell James I’m sorry?”

“I’m actually supposed to tell you that he’s sorry,” Lily laughed, “But I suppose I can. You going by Floo?” Olwyn nodded. “I’ll walk you to the reception hall, then.”

Diagon Alley was, if possible, even busier than it had been in August when she and Oswald had come to get her school supplies. She clung tight to Lucy’s arm, unwilling to let go in the crush of the holiday crowds. Olwyn felt her chest tighten. There was too much noise, she decided, too much color and movement and she felt like she might be sick. Just when she thought she might actually lose her mind, Lucy pulled her off the street and into a quiet little shop. Olwyn sucked in a massive breath, then another. She let go of Lucy’s arm and focused. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Her stomach settled as the quiet of the shop and the steady breathing calmed her. 

“You alright?”

Olwyn opened her eyes to find Pandora watching her. She smiled. “Yeah, Pan, I’m fine now.” Pandora nodded, and wandered off amid the racks and racks of what Olwyn now recognized as fancy robes. There seemed to be every color of the rainbow, every texture and print imaginable. There were long sleeves and short sleeves, diving necklines and more traditional high necks, lace and taffeta and satin and velvet everywhere she looked. 

“Come on, Olwyn, don’t just stand there,” Lucy called, almost completely buried under the massive taffeta skirt of the gown she was holding out. “What do you think of this one?”

“That’s a lot of skirt,” Olwyn managed, picking her way between the racks to join Lucy. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Lucy mused, “Might be useful for keeping boys away from me, though.” Pandora snorted from the next rack over. 

“But then Bast might have trouble dancing with you,” Pan commented innocently, not looking up from her perusal. Lucy spluttered indignantly, but she put the dress back. 

Pan decided, quite quickly, on a pale blue gown with a long, floaty skirt and a wide collar that just skimmed the edges of her shoulders, without quite falling off. Lucy took significantly longer to find a pink dress that didn’t clash with her hair and had the high neckline she preferred. Then, it was Olwyn’s turn. Both girls dove into the racks together, searching out the perfect choice for her, as she had no experience with dress robes herself. Olwyn was reminded of the Halloween party, but on a much larger scale. 

“Is this really necessary?” Olwyn asked as Lucy shoved yet another dress in her face. 

“Obviously,” Lucy drawled. 

“You’ve never really been out in society before,” Pan commented, “And the Black Ball is one of the most important events on any pureblood witch’s social calendar. All the important families will be there, the Sacred Twenty-Eight and Ministry officials and anyone who is anyone. That’s how the Blacks like it.”  
“Furthermore,” Lucy added, “You’re friends with Regulus Black, who is now the de facto Heir Black since his older brother up and disgraced the family. If you even so much as nod at Regulus, the pureblood mothers will be foaming at the mouth. You must be prepared, and the best way to do that is with an excellent choice of robes.”

“You make it sound as though I’m riding into battle.” 

Lucy sighed. “You might as well be. Purebloods are...well, we’re sticklers for tradition. You’ve got some insulation, being a Hawthorne and all, but people will want to know you. To know about you. Image is everything, and the Black Ball is definitely a part of that. I know you don’t get political, but this is important. If not for your sake, then for Regulus.”

“Regulus?” Olwyn questioned, “What does this have to do with him?”

“Who do you think invited you to the Ball?” Pandora snorted. “He must have asked his grandfather to send you an invitation. That makes you his responsibility, to a degree.” 

“Oh,” Olwyn hummed. She hadn’t realized. She stared down at the dress in her hands. It was a deep green velvet, richer than any fabric she’d held before. The Hawthorne clan was far from poor, but they lived simply, set in their ways. She had never had to wear a fine gown as armor before, but she supposed, if she was going to fulfill her promise to her father, she ought to get used to it. “Right,” she mumbled, pulling the gown into the dressing room, “Let’s see.”

When Olwyn emerged from the dressing room, Lucy and Pandora were talking to someone. The newcomer was a tall woman with glossy black curls and the heavy silver stare that Olwyn had come to associate with the Black family. 

“Oh, Olwyn,” Lucy said, noticing her first, “that gown looks lovely!” 

“Quite,” the unknown woman drawled, “The very image of a Slytherin lady, I think.” Her lips curled in an imperious sort of smile. “You must wear that to the Ball.” 

“This is Bellatrix Lestrange,” Lucy said, introducing the woman. “She’s Bast’s sister-in-law, and Regulus’ cousin.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Olwyn said. She couldn’t manage much more than that. She knew what this woman was like; she knew what she would do. At Hogwarts, she had almost managed to forget that Bast was a Lestrange, and what that would mean for the future. But with Bellatrix staring her down, she was gripped with the knowledge that this woman would wreak havoc and destruction wherever she could. Olwyn wondered if the madness that would one day take over her mind was already present, and she had to suppress a shiver. 

“Olwyn Hawthorne is a friend of ours from school,” Lucy said, covering for Olwyn’s sudden silence. “She’s in Slytherin with us, brilliant at Potions and Runes.” 

“Is she now?” Bellatrix drawled, eyeing Olwyn the way a cat eyed a mouse it was considering chasing. “A Hawthorne. How interesting.” 

Olwyn merely stared back, willing her face to remain calm and her mind to clear. Bellatrix smiled, showing off her canines. 

“Well, I must be off,” she said, nodding to the three girls. “I’ll see you all at Nights Folly.” With that, the woman who would become one of the most infamous witches in history swept out of the little dress shop. 

Lucy sighed. “She gives me the creeps,” she complained. Olwyn could only nod in agreement. “She was right about the dress, though,” Lucy continued, “You’re definitely getting that one.”

Oswald had arranged to pick Olwyn up from Flourish and Blotts at three that afternoon, claiming he had to pick up some books there anyways, and no, it really wasn’t a bother, Olwyn, don’t be silly. Lucy giggled when she saw him in the shop, waving at Olwyn. 

“Hi Professor Hawthorne,” she simpered and Oz grinned his charming grin. 

“Hello, Miss Rosier. I do hope you’ve taken good care of my sister, here?”

“Of course we have, I’m offended you’d think otherwise!” 

“Naturally, my mistake. What good friends Olwyn has, right, Olwyn?” 

Olwyn squinted her eyes at him, but nodded in agreement anyways. “Yup,” she muttered, “Very good friends.” 

“Excellent,” Oswald said, “let me just pay for these and we’ll be on our way.” As he trotted off, Lucy sighed leaning her head against Olwyn’s shoulder.

“Super fit,” she whispered, and Olwyn had to shrug her shoulder violently to get Lucy off. Disgusting. Pandora giggled. 

The goodbyes were not quite as tearful this time, as it would only be a little over a week until Pandora and Olwyn would be going to Lucy’s house to get ready for the Ball together. Lucy, in particular, seemed in very high spirits as she waved goodbye. Oswald grabbed Olwyn’s arm, turned on his heel, and the world dissolved around them. 

“Urgh,” Olwyn moaned as the front gate of Pottershall materialized. “Remind me again why we had to Apparate?” 

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate your friends knowing you were staying at Pottershall,” Oswald explained, raising an eyebrow. “I take it you didn’t tell them.” 

Olwyn shifted her feet. No, she hadn’t told them. She had mentioned, back in the beginning of December, that she and Oswald would be staying in London for the holidays, but then plans had changed and she’d never really gotten around to explaining that. Guilt twisted in her already nauseated stomach. She didn’t want to lie to her friends, but nor could she reveal how, exactly, she knew the Potters well enough to be invited to their house to stay. She couldn’t wait for the war with Voldemort to be over, and for this rift to be healed. 

Christmas Eve at Pottershall was nothing short of idyllic. Presents piled under the tree, candles glowing from every corner of the house, holly and ivy twined in heavy garlands over every available surface, and the crackle of Fleamont’s gramophone as it churned out a strange combination of Wizading and Muggle carols.

Olwyn woke early on Christmas Day and stared up at the exposed beams above her head. One of the first Christmases she could remember, she had crept into her parents’ bed in the middle of the night, too excited to sleep. Her mother had rubbed her back and hummed a lullaby, and she must have fallen asleep eventually, because she woke to the smell of oatcakes and honey and the warm, spiced milk her mother had preferred in the morning. Her father had grinned down at them, his hair just as messy and wild as James’ was, now. There’s my girls, he had said, tickling Olwyn’s stomach and kissing her mother’s head. They had all eaten breakfast together, right there in bed, before they opened presents. Olwyn sniffed, and reached up to wipe away a tear. Aunt Mercy was right. It did get easier to think about them, as time went on, but Olwyn could never imagine this weight on her heart would lift entirely. She would simply have to make sure that her parents never experienced what only she now remembered. 

_ Aunt Mercy, _

_ I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I’d be staying with the Potters! I mean, that is supposing you knew, of course, but from the hints you dropped in your previous letters, I assume that you did. I can’t explain exactly how wonderful it’s been, staying here at Pottershall. Maybe there are no words for it, truly. I think I’ve become close to Lily, in particular, she’s a muggleborn witch, engaged to James Potter, and she’s so smart and funny and I don’t even know. It’s strange. Yule went well, Oswald and I were able to practice the ritual properly. Lily joined us, she was curious about it. And, to my surprise, Sirius Black did too. It shouldn’t have been too surprising, really; Regulus told me that his family practiced the Old Ways. I hope Yule in the Grove was as wonderful as I remember it being. _

_ Nadolig Llawen _

_ Olwyn _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, James and Lily are two of my favourite characters to write. I love them! 
> 
> Next time, the Ball.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> -Blue


	6. Part One: Six

_ Cariad, _

_ Yule is always powerful in the Grove, but I’m sure you know that. I’m glad to hear that the old holidays aren’t completely overlooked by modern wizardkind.  _

_ I admit, I did know that Oswald had arranged for you to stay at the Potters. I’d hoped it would be a good surprise, and it seems like I was right. Sometimes, there are no words for the things we feel; you can trust that I understand that. _

_ Your Aunt Mercy _

Christmas morning in Pottershall was a riot of noise, warmth, and pancakes. Quite literally. James and Sirius had been joined by another of their friends, one Remus Lupin, and the two had conspired to enchant Remus’ pancakes to dance. Which was all well and good, until Remus enlisted Lily’s help in getting revenge. A long story short, there was syrup on the ceiling. 

In the lull between presents and dinner, Olwyn found herself curled up in the library with Lily. James, Sirius, and Remus had gone out for a snowball war, enlisting Oswald to even out their teams. From the library window, she could see James cackling as Oswald’s Rune-encrusted fortifications withstood a vicious barrage. Lily had merely shaken her head and pulled her feet up underneath her on the couch. 

“Are you alright?” Lily asked, tilting her head. Olwyn blinked. She’d been thinking about the promise she made her father, but thought that she’d hidden her emotions well enough. 

“Um, yeah,” she responded, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Lily said gently, “But if you want to, I’ll listen.” 

Olwyn pressed her palms together in her lap. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me.”

“Try me.” 

“Lily,” Olwyn murmured, “Do you know what an atom bomb is?”

Lily stiffened. “We learned about them in school,” she said, “Back in Cokeworth. Why?” Olwyn twisted her hands together, trying to think of how to phrase this. Eventually, she decided just to tell. Lily was the open-minded sort, as Yule had proven, and Olwyn thought she might be a good gauge of how a reasonable person would react to Olwyn’s story. 

“I have these dreams,” Olwyn begins, remembering what Aunt Mercy had told her about methods of Seeing. “I don’t get them all the time, only sometimes. A lot of people, well, they don’t ask. But I know a lot of people wonder why I came out of the Grove. I’m only the fourth Hawthorne to ever attend Hogwarts, you know.” She waited for a moment, to see if Lily would comment, but the redhead only nodded, her expectant green eyes fixed on Olwyn’s face. “I kept having this dream, last spring. Of a castle I knew to be Hogwarts, just knew it, engulfed in a blast of light so bright it felt like my eyes were burning. People were screaming and it was just...there was pain, everywhere. It fits with an atom bomb, doesn’t it?” 

Lily was pale. “It does,” she agreed. “But, but why would a dream- it’s just a dream.”

“It’s not,” Olwyn said, her voice low but steady. This was easier than she’d expected. “It’s not a dream, Lily. Not a normal one. It’s not the kind of dream that will stay a dream.” 

“Are you…are you a Seer?”

“We have a lot of different names for things in the Grove. I suppose you’d call it a Seer, yeah. My dreams are true, sometimes. And this dream, this is what made me leave the Grove. I don’t want it to come true.”

Lily sighed. “I wouldn’t, either,” she muttered. There was a long pause, where Lily stared into the fire with a thoughtful look on her face. “I don’t believe all that nonsense that purebloods spout about Muggles, you know,” she said when she had gathered her thoughts, “But they, well, humans in general, we don’t like what we don’t understand. I could see the Muggle government being so afraid of magic that they would bomb Hogwarts. I don’t want to see it, but I do. Wizards, they think they’re invincible, that magic is infallible, but…”

“But it isn’t, not always,” Olwyn agreed. Lily gave her a sad smile.

“Well,” she sighed, “That answers one of my questions, at least. Now I know why you chose to go to Hogwarts, and I kind of wish I didn’t.”

“I’m going to stop it, Lily,” Olwyn said, finding herself more confident about that than she had ever been before. “I won’t let it happen. I won’t let Muggles discover magic.” 

The fourth member of James Potter’s little gang was Peter Pettigrew, and he arrived at Pottershall an hour before dinner on Boxing Day. Olwyn had thought she might have trouble with Pettigrew, might be angry with him, but the Peter she met seemed sweet and clever and if she hadn’t known he would betray James and Lily, she never would have guessed. It helped, she supposed, that while she knew about his betrayal, she also knew about the nasty death he would suffer as a price for his disloyalty. And, if she had her way, none of this would come to pass, anyways. She knew where the Horcruxes were, after all, and what they were and how they were protected. She and Oswald had worked out a plan, in the spring, for finding and destroying them, but they were stumped as to how to get to the diary and the cup. They would leave it for now, until Oswald built up enough credibility with Dumbledore to bring it up, or a better plan arose. She shook her head. These were the kinds of things she ought to worry about in private.

Peter and Remus hung around until the 30th, promising to be back on New Year’s Eve with fireworks and champagne. Olwyn was growing more and more nervous for the Ball. She had informed the Potters and Sirius that she would be spending New Year’s Eve with her friend Lucy. 

“Lucy?” Sirius frowned, “Lucy Rosier?” Olwyn nodded, expecting a bit of drama, but no one said anything about it. Apparently, not only had James learned his lesson, but he’d also taught it to his friends. And so, at three o’clock on the evening of the 31st, Olwyn stepped through the fireplace and into the Rosier townhouse in London, where Lucy was waiting for her. 

“Olwyn!” Lucy squealed as soon as she stepped through, a case she’d borrowed from Oswald clutched in her fist. It contained her gown and shoes, as well as pyjamas for after the Ball. A houself immediately offered to take her case to Miss Lucy’s room, and Olwyn gladly accepted. Lucy gave Olwyn the grand tour of the house where she had grown up, introducing Olwyn to her parents and her two older brothers before making their way up the seemingly endless flights of stairs to a landing with two doors. The one in front of them had a brass plate with ‘Lucinda’ engraved on it in a fancy script. The other door was marked ‘Evander’ in the same lettering. 

“Evan’s real name is Evander?” Olwyn asked, and Lucy snorted. 

“Yes, our parents’ horrible naming conventions extend to all my brothers.” Lucy pushed open the door with her name on it, revealing a room done in white and shades of pale pink. The grand canopy bed was hung with gossamer curtains, the elaborate dressing table was all in white, and the thick rug that covered most of the wooden floors was so deep that when she stepped into it, Olwyn lost sight of her own feet. 

“Pandora should be here any minute,” Lucy said, flopping down onto her own bed. “How was your Christmas?”

“It was nice enough, I suppose,” Olwyn shrugged. “Yule was lovely, though. How was yours?”

Lucy huffed. “It was nice. Evan is always much more tolerable when he’s trying to avoid Silas and Leander, so it’s a nice break.” Olwyn laughed. 

Pandora did arrive shortly, and the flurry of cosmetic charms and hair squabbles that followed was, quite frankly, dizzying. But by the time the clock was ready to strike eight, Olwyn felt more elegant than she ever had before in her life. Lucy had done her hair and makeup, and Pandora had given her a run-down on proper manners and made her prove that she could, in fact, waltz without embarrassing herself. She had never been more grateful for her mother’s dancing lessons in her life. 

Standing in front of the tall mirror in the corner of Lucy’s room, Olwyn could hardly recognize herself. Her features had been carefully accentuated, light rouge and lipstick and delicate lines of black to emphasize her green eyes and the line of her cheekbones. Her hair was pulled back, coiled and curled and coiffed until it was piled atop her head to Lucy’s satisfaction. The dress itself needed no work; the deep neckline showed off Olwyn’s pale collarbones and the three-quarters sleeves highlighted her wrists. The bodice clung tightly to her waist, and then loosened and flowed down to her bare feet, pooling on the floor around her. She stared at herself, and was shocked to find a beautiful young woman staring back. It was a surreal moment; Olwyn had never thought of herself as beautiful because she had never thought about her appearance much at all. Lucy giggled.

“Yes, I know, I know,” she teased, “You’re very beautiful, you’re welcome.” Olwyn turned to Lucy, a dazed look in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, with a sincerity that startled even herself. Lucy smiled. 

“Of course.” 

Evan chose that moment to duck his head around the door. “Lu, it’s time to go. Hey, Pan; hey, Olwyn.” He stepped into the room fully. “Ready for your first ever Black Ball?” Evan asked Olwyn, waggling his eyebrows. Olwyn made a face. Evan was wearing tailored dress robes, a deep grey outer robe with a oxblood waistcoat and white shirt underneath. Olwyn had to admit, he looked dashing. He winked at her, as though he knew what she was thinking. “Shall we, then?” he asked, offering his arm to his sister. Olwyn slipped into her high heeled shoes and followed the Rosier twins and Pandora out the door.

The first thing one sees when arriving at Nights Folly is a circular drive, cobbled in pale stone, and a massive, ornate fountain rising from the middle. If one cared to look closely, the fountain would be revealed to depict the myth of Artemis and Orion, but in the darkness of that December night, Olwyn did not look closely. She was distracted by the house itself, a massive neo-gothic mansion, with rows upon rows of glittering windows and gargoyles snarling from the edge of the roof. It seemed as though every window held a candle, and the entire manor shone to defy the stars. Olwyn followed the Rosier twins up the steps that climbed to the massive main doors, thrown open to welcome the guests of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. The reception hall, once they were inside, was lined with fireplaces, most flaring green every now and then to reveal guests who had chosen to Floo. They crossed over a massive crest, inlaid in the floor in black and white marble, the same crest that Olwyn recognized from the invitation. When they reached the doors to what Olwyn could only suppose was the Grand Ballroom, they all presented their invitations to twin suits of armor, who had their pikes raised to allow the guests to enter. 

Olwyn was sure that the Grand Ballroom of Nights Folly must be a dream. The black and white tiles in the floor gleamed, windows hung with velvet curtains alternated with leaded mirrors, and under one of the three crystal chandeliers, a chamber orchestra played a dreamy waltz. The ceiling beyond the chandeliers, Olwyn realized, glittered with constellations. 

“The Blacks really are that pretentious,” Bast muttered into her ear, and Olwyn jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach. He grinned at her, and raised a champagne flute. “You do know they’re all named after stars, right?” he scoffed, pointing up to the ceiling. Oh. That did bring new meaning to the constellations. But Olwyn was fairly certain that nothing could dull her wonder, not even the fact that there were well over two hundred people in the ballroom. The space was large enough that it didn’t feel cramped, and her usual tension had been replaced by a numb sort of fascination. Bast had said that the Blacks were richer than Camelot, but she hadn’t realized exactly what that meant until just now. 

“Ah, and here he is,” Evan called, “the man himself!” Evan laughed, but Regulus only raised his eyebrow. He had approached the group while Olwyn was staring at the ceiling, and she could feel herself blushing under the rouge. 

“Friends,” Regulus drawled, looking effortlessly at home in all the grandeur. His robes were heavy and dark, the more traditional style that buttoned all the way up to his neck and had cut sleeves to show off the elaborate embroidery of the shirt underneath. He looked handsome, Olwyn acknowledged, every inch the pureblood prince he was supposed to be. He caught her eye and let the corner of his lips quirk up. She smiled back at him. 

“Olwyn looks particularly lovely this evening, doesn’t she?” Lucy commented out of the blue. Olwyn winced, but Regulus only gave her an intense silvery stare, letting his gaze slide down the exposed lines of her body. She tried to fight a shiver.

“Yes,” he said after a moment, “She does.” Olwyn couldn’t meet his eyes, instead choosing to stare at his sleeves. “May I have this dance, Olwyn Hawthorne?” he asked, as haughty as she’d ever heard. Olwyn could only nod.

They swept onto the dance floor, the guests parting to make way for Regulus. They took their position on the floor, Olwyn resting a tentative hand on his shoulder, while Regulus’ found its place just above her waist. The music stirred, and Regulus glided into a waltz. 

“What do you think of Nights Folly?” he asked, leading her effortlessly through the steps. 

“It’s beautiful,” Olwyn admitted, “If larger than I think a house ought to be.” 

Regulus snorted, and managed to make it seem dignified. “Yes, well, I imagine that was rather the point,” he said. “How have your holidays been?”

“Rather nice, thank you. And yours?”

“Tolerable,” Regulus admitted, pausing to spin her out in a more elaborate step. “I find that Grimmauld Place does wonders for one’s paranoia,” he continued when they came back together. 

“I’m sorry,” Olwyn whispered. Regulus gave her a strange look, more coldly assessing than would be expected of a friend asking another friend about their holidays. Olwyn frowned. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Regulus said, “That is the life of a Black. Speaking of which, I presume you don’t know any of the people present here tonight?”

“Well, I know Lord Rosier, now.” 

Regulus hummed. “You see that lady over my left shoulder, with the greying hair and the imperious look? That’s my great aunt, Cassiopeia Black. She’d known for her curse work and paranoia about Muggles. Next to her is Mrs Spencer-Moon, the Minister’s wife, who has been having an affair with the Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation for at least three years. The man with the little moustache giving her a dirty look is Bartemius Crouch, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He’s very strict, about laws and morals. You’d know him better as Barty’s father.” Regulus continued in this manner, telling her about the political leanings of Department Heads and the tanglings of the social web pureblood wives had created. It was fascinating; he seemed to know something about everyone in the room. The waltz ended, and he asked her to dance again. She accepted, and the narration continued. 

“What about that man,” Olwyn asked, “With the pince-nez and the cane?” 

Regulus followed Olwyn’s gaze. The man in question had wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and a supremely haughty expression. “That, dear Olwyn, is my grandfather. Arcturus Black.” 

Olwyn glanced up at Regulus. She shouldn’t be surprised; there were a number of Blacks in the room, and Arcturus Black was the Head of House and the host of the whole evening. But there was something off in Regulus’ tone, something unusually bitter in his smooth baritone. Regulus noticed her stare. 

“Grandfather is a political animal, to be sure. He holds three seats on the Wizengamot, in the Upper House, and has led more than one faction in his time. He’s neutral in the current strife, before you ask. Doesn’t just claim to be, either; actually is. He fears Muggles more than he hates them, you see. Paranoia is what he’s known best for. Well, that and favoritism.” Regulus’ mouth turned down. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about what happened with my bro- with the outcast of the family, but Sirius Black was, once upon a time, Grandfather’s favorite. He hoped to make Sirius his Heir. It’s impossible now, and Sirius never wanted it anyways, but Grandfather, he….” Regulus falls quiet for a moment, a blank look coming over his face. “Grandfather holds out hope,” he finished tonelessly. Olwyn squeezed his hand, trying to convey her sympathy. It must be hard for Regulus, she realized, to be the spare son in this glittering, vicious world. Even now that Sirius had denounced his whole family, Regulus struggled to escape his shadow. 

“Come,” Regulus said, as the dance ended. He held out his arm to Olwyn, and she took it, unquestioningly. 

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

“To introduce you to my grandfather,” Regulus drawled. Olwyn swallowed. From what Regulus had told her, Arcturus, Lord Black, would make an excellent ally in the struggle against magical exposure, but somehow, that did little to calm her nerves. Breathe, she told herself, in through the nose, out through the mouth. The sharp scent of Regulus’ cologne filled her nose, and she could feel herself relaxing. 

Arcturus Black up close was just as intimidating as he seemed from afar. Most of the Black family was tall, and Arcturus was no exception. He was taller than Regulus, and far broader. His hair was a dark grey, streaked with white at the temples, and his eyes were the shade of mercury she had come to expect from a Black, sharp and alert behind his delicate pince-nez. “Regulus,” he acknowledged as they approached. His voice was softer than Owlyn would have expected from such a commanding man. 

“Grandfather,” Regulus replied, bowing slightly at the waist. “I would like to present to you Miss Olwyn Hawthorne.” 

Olwyn ducked into a curtsey, perhaps a little shallower than it should have been. She could feel Lord Black’s scrutiny as she rose back into her best posture. She met his gaze as surely as she could manage. His eyes were very like Regulus’, not only the same shade, but the same shape as well. “Lord Black,” she said, proud of how strong her tone held. 

“A Hawthorne,” he repeated. 

“Yes, my lord,” she said, remembering how Pandora had instructed her to greet a Lord of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. 

“You grew up in the Grove, then, I take it.” 

She nodded. 

“And where is that, exactly?” 

Olwyn couldn’t help but laugh. She had never heard anyone phrase it quite so plainly. “I imagine your lordship is aware that I cannot say. I am bound by my Solemn Vows, and to speak the place is to lose it forever.” She met Arcturus’ eye, and raised an eyebrow in the way Regulus so often did. 

“A Solemn Vow, indeed,” Arcturus huffed. However, he seemed more amused than anything. All the time spent with Regulus meant that she was accustomed to searching for the tiniest variations in expression that might give away what was going on behind that pureblood mask. “And why have you come to Hogwarts, then? I assume you have, given you seem well-accquainted with my grandson.”

“I have gone to Hogwarts; Regulus and I are in the same year in Slytherin House. As for my reasons, they are my own.” Olwyn raised her chin, daring him to defy her will. But Arcturus did not challenge it further, merely humming. 

“My grandson must be fond of you, if he brought you to meet me.”  
Beside her, Regulus stiffened. 

“I should hope so,” Olwyn said, trying not to think about Regulus’ reaction. “We’re the only Slytherins in our advanced Ancient Runes class, and I have found that we study better together than either might alone.” 

“Ancient Runes, hmm?” Arcturus said, giving her an appraising sort of look. “You wouldn’t be a relation of Oswald Hawthorne, the current Professor of Ancient Runes at Hogwarts school?”

“I am, my lord. He’s my older brother.” 

“You must be very talented then, with that sort of bloodline. My dear friend, Lord Selwyn, was quite taken with his work for his Mastery.” 

“I like to think I have inherited something of my brother’s talents, yes.”

“Don’t be demure, Olwyn,” Regulus admonished. “Olwyn is by far the best in the class.”

“Not by far,” Olwyn protested, “You and I are neck and neck for every exam, Regulus, although I will admit, we do leave the rest of the class behind.” Olwyn smiled at him, and Regulus gave her a rare, gentle smile in return, almost like he couldn’t help himself. 

Arcturus hummed. “A rare gift, Runes,” he noted, “And a very useful one. I understand your brother works in practical Runes, Miss Hawthorne. Have you decided such a preference?” 

“I much prefer Warding, if I’m honest,” Olwyn admitted. Arcturus raised his eyebrows, his pince-nez wobbling dangerously. 

“Warding is quite the valuable skill, if done well,” he commented, his voice too level to be entirely natural. 

“Warding is important to me,” Olwyn said, “And to...shall we say, my home.” 

Arcturus removed his pince-nez entirely to give her a sharp appraisal. There was calculation in that stare, of that Olwyn was sure. “Interesting,” he murmured, “Very interesting.”

  
  


_ Aunt Mercy, _

_ I’ve never been to a house quite so grand as the Black’s family manor. I’m fairly certain it can’t even be called a house; it is grand enough to be a palace. Pureblood politics is definitely more confusing than I gave it credit for, but Regulus explained it to me. Yes, I did dance with Regulus. _

_ Olwyn _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the Blacks are supposed to be no good, but I do love writing them. 
> 
> Next chapter, it's back to Hogwarts for the rest of sixth year. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed,
> 
> -Blue


	7. Part One: Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:
> 
> Please be advised, this chapter contains depictions of a panic attack. While not overly graphic, if this is something you struggle with, please, please be aware. 
> 
> Thank you!

Olwyn was surprised to find that it was something of a relief to be back at Hogwarts. The familiarity of the school was soothing, expected. She slept well, that first night back under the green canopy of her bed in the dorm. 

Classes started back the day after they returned, and with it, routine. Bast would complain about professors to Lucy, Evan and Regulus would disappear for hours at a time to practice Quidditch, and Olwyn would strike up her rhythm of studying, usually in the library, by herself or with whoever happened to be free at the time. She liked to think that this was why it took her so long to notice that Regulus was avoiding her. 

The bell had barely rung, and Regulus was already most of the way to the door of the Ancient Runes classroom. He had a free period after, same as she did, so Olwyn couldn’t think of a reason he’d have to run off so quickly he couldn’t even say goodbye. She sat at her desk for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. 

“Oi, Olwyn,” Oswald called. Olwyn blinked. The classroom was empty and Oswald had packed up his notes and was waiting in front of her desk, his eyebrows raised. “You alright?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Olwyn said, trying to snap herself back into the present moment, “I’m fine.”

Instead of heading to the library after class as she had planned, she went to the dorms. Abernathy gave her a nasty glare, but Olwyn merely climbed into her bed and drew the curtains around it. She needed a minute to think. What had she done to offend Regulus? That was the only explanation she could think of. Memories of the Black Ball surfaced and she blushed. Had he been embarrassed by her dancing? Her dress? The way she had spoken to his grandfather? She supposed that last one could make sense; Regulus was trying to stay in Lord Black’s good graces, and Olwyn had been a little sharper than she usually allowed herself. But Lord Black hadn’t seemed to mind. Maybe someone had said something about it afterwards? She flopped back against her pillows and groaned. The only way to know for sure was to ask him. 

The thing about Olwyn was, she wasn’t good at confrontation. She never had been. Sure, she could give as good as she got when it came to a fight someone else started, but actively seeking out conflict? No, thank you, not Olwyn’s cup of tea. And so finding not only the time but also the courage to corner a rather intimidating pureblood wizard and demanding to know what his problem was, seemed a bit...out of character. 

Olwyn sighed and set down her quill. She wasn’t actually getting any homework done; the ink had dripped onto a mostly empty parchment while she had been staring at the wall, worrying about her Regulus problem. As if thinking of him summoned him, Regulus chose that very moment to walk by her desk, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration as he scanned the titles presented on the shelves. 

“Regulus,” she said, waving and starting to stand. He froze, and when he turned to look at her, his face was a perfect mask of indifference. There was nothing to be read, not even in his usually expressive eyes as he stared at her for a silent, painful moment. Then he turned around and walked away. He didn’t say a word, didn’t make any move to acknowledge she had spoked. Olwyn dropped into her chair. She was surprised at how much that stung. People had been indifferent to her before, even cruel, but never Regulus. The memory of the first time she’d met Sirius rose, unbidden, to the front of her mind. He had had that same stoic, untouchable expression firmly in place. Olwyn swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. 

Until he had started giving her the cold shoulder, Olwyn hadn’t realized exactly how much time she spent with Regulus in a day. No snide comments over breakfast, no one to comment to about a particular Potions ingredient or a Transfiguration diagram. Studying alone in the library, building Rune strings in the lonely silence. She missed him, and it alarmed her exactly how much. She hadn’t meant to get so attached to him. For Myrddin’s sake, he would die next year! That thought had caused her to drop her books, right in the middle of the library. Regulus Black would die in August of 1979, if she let him. A year and a half. It was like a dagger to the heart; she couldn’t imagine going about her day knowing that Regulus Black no longer existed in this world. She had to make up with him, because it was her only hope of saving him from the horrors of the cave. Oh yes, she knew what waited for him in that sea-side cave, and she would be damned if she allowed that fate to claim him. 

She would follow him after Runes, she decided, that very same Wednesday. Neither of them had classes afterwards, so he couldn’t use that as an excuse, and if she was ready to go right when the bell rang, she might be able to catch him in the corridor before he managed to disappear. She was going to get to the bottom of this.

This time, when the bell rang, she was ready. When he leapt out of his seat, so did she. When he hurried off down a corridor, so did she. They were in a quiet part of the castle, mostly unused classrooms. Olwyn had no idea where he was going, but she was determined to follow. He led her down a confusing warren of hallways until she had to hope they’d make up, because she certainly wasn’t finding her way out of here. Regulus turned a corner, and she hurried after him. She caught a glimpse of a dead end and window looking over the lake before her wrists were grabbed and she was thrown against the wall. 

“Ow, what the-” 

Regulus had her pinned against the wall, trapped between the stone and his towering figure. 

“What is it you want,” he snarled, “Can’t you just leave well enough alone? You had to follow me?” 

“Regulus, stop,” she cried, trying to pull her wrists free. Regulus didn’t budge. His eyes glared down at her, silver fire in the afternoon sunlight. “Reg, you’re hurting me,” she tried. He growled, low, more like an animal than a man, and squeezed his eyes shut. They stood there, for a long moment, his troubled expression and her panting. When he opened his eyes again, they had lost some of the madness that had made them almost glow as he first confronted her. 

“What do you want?” he asked again, more quietly this time.

“I want to know what I did wrong,” Olwyn answered, her voice small. She wished he would let her wrists go. 

Regulus gave her a long, searching look with those heavy eyes. “Why are you here, Olwyn Hawthorne?” he whispered into the distance between them. 

“To save magic,” she answered, truthfully. 

Regulus scoffed. “To save magic,” he muttered, “Save it from what?”

“Utter annihilation.” He stared into her eyes, and she stared back. “Sight is not an uncommon gift in the Grove,” she continued, “It’s the magic of the place, it affects you, when you stay there. When you live there. I get, I get these dreams. They tell me the future. They tell me the truth. And when I say I came here to save magic, you can scoff, but only because you have not seen what I have seen.” Her voice was rising in pitch, spiralling out of control. “They will come, come for all of us, over land and from the sky and up from the water’s depths and they will come to kill, only to kill. I have Seen-” she gasped for breath, fighting the shudders that wracked her body. “Death and despair, they will murder children, will wipe the world clean of every trace of us, I-” Her breathe was coming too fast now. She was vaguely aware that she was stuttering, words tripping over themselves and contorting as they tried to pass her tongue. Her eyes were open but she could not see; the world was spinning, the sky was falling and it was all too much, too much to be born. She sobbed, deep and wretched, pulling weakly at her wrists. 

“Olwyn,” Regulus whispered, dropping her wrists and pulling her shivering body close instead. “Olwyn, love, breathe.” He stroked her hair as she buried her face in his school shirt. “Breathe, love, with me. In. Out. In. Out.” 

Slowly, Olwyn came back to herself, following the rise and fall of Regulus’ chest. When she opened her eyes, Regulus’ face was mere inches from her, guilt and fear written in every line of his aristocratic features. They had sunk to the floor at some point, Regulus sitting and Olwyn curled on top of him. She became aware of the texture of his shirt beneath her fingers, the shift of his thigh muscles beneath her, the weight of his hand in her hair.

“There you are, love,” he breathed. There was a long moment of silence. “Merlin, Olwyn,” Regulus moaned, “I’m so sorry.” 

“The Muggles, Regulus. That’s who will come for us. They find out about magic and they try to eradicate it. Eradicate us.” 

Regulus stiffened under her. “They couldn’t,” he muttered, his tone derisive, “They’re just Muggles.”

“They will. The technology they have, what they use instead of magic. It will destroy us.” 

Regulus exhaled, squeezing her a little bit tighter. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” she muttered, her voice thin and cracked. “I should have told you sooner.” 

Regulus shook his head. “No, this is my fault. You have never had to tell me anything; it’s not my place to require something like that from you. I just...I think it’s that house.”

“Grimmauld Place?”

“Yeah. My parents...everyone says that madness runs in the family, you know, that it’s in the Black blood. I just...my mother was asking all these questions, she saw me with you at the ball, and she wanted...she wanted to know...and I couldn’t fight it, not really.” 

Olwyn raised her hands and pressed them to either side of Regulus’ face. “It’s not your fault,” she said, as clearly as she could manage. “I should have trusted you. I do trust you. I followed you because I missed you. I want us to go back to how we were. That’s all I want.” 

Regulus smiled at her, a little watery, but a real, genuine smile. “I want that, too,” he agreed. Olwyn’s heart fluttered in her chest and she knew that she would treasure this memory. 

Things didn’t go back exactly to how they’d been before winter holidays and Regulus’ bout of paranoia; if anything, the two spent even more time together. Lucy teased her horribly about it, but Olwyn just shrugged off her insinuations. If she had a crush on Regulus, she would know, right? She just liked to spend time with him. 

Regulus came to find her after Quidditch practice, his hair still damp from the shower. He collapsed into the chair next to Olwyn, his cologne wafting into her face in a wave as he tugged his satchel onto the table.

“You have to admit,” he said, “Of all the rune systems, I like the Fews the best.”

“I thought you hated the Fews,” Olwyn snorted. “Weren’t you complaining about them just last semester?” 

“Well, yes, I was,” Regulus admitted, “But, they are dead useful, once you get the hang of them. The warding properties, especially, are incredible.” 

“I can’t argue with that,” Olwyn said, nibbling on the end of her quill, a bad habit she’d picked up from Pandora, “The Ogham Fews are so...natural...based...it’s. Ugh,” she gave up. She wanted to talk about the uses the Fews had in the wards around the Grove, and how they helped to anchor the wards in the eleven sacred hawthorn trees, but her Solemn Vows tied her tongue. Regulus only twisted the corner of his mouth. 

“Vows got your tongue?” he teased, and Olwyn shot him an exasperated look. He huffed, something close to a laugh, and turned to his book. 

That was how Lucy found them, some two hours later. “Merlin, I knew you’d be here,” she drawled with evident disgust to find her yearmates up to their ears in a complex rune series. “I wanted to talk to Olwyn, Reg, if you’d be so kind.” Regulus raised his eyebrows, but stood up anyways. He wandered away, further into the Runes section of the library, to give the girls a little privacy. 

“What’s up, Luce?” Olwyn asked, wondering what could be so important that Lucy sought her out and so secret that she would send Regulus away. 

“I have a confession,” Lucy said, perching on the chair opposite to Olwyn. 

“You’re shagging Bast?” Olwyn joked. She was met with silence. Lucy had a guilty, mildly horrified look on her face. Olwyn stared. “Oh my stars,” she gasped, “You’re shagging Bast.” Lucy only bit her lip. “For how long?” 

“Since the Black Ball.” 

“Lucy!”

“Shush, shush, I don’t want people to know.”

“It’s just Regulus who would hear, and if what you’re saying is true, Regulus definitely already knows.”

Regulus chose that moment to poke his head out from behind a bookshelf. “I definitely do,” he confirmed. Lucy groaned. 

Evan, it seemed, was the only one who was weirded out by the fact that Lucy and Bast were now an item. To be fair to him, it was his sister and one of his best friends; it was bound to be at least a little awkward. That being said, as supportive as Olwyn was of her friend’s newfound romance, she did not want to spend any more time having to watch Lu and Bast snog on the common room couches. Regulus had heartily agreed.

This led to more time spent out of the common room with Regulus. They studied, or went for wanders around the castle, talking about bits and pieces of their lives. The first warm day of April saw the two Slytherins sitting on a large rock overlooking the Black Lake. 

“Hey,” Olwyn said, nudging Regulus’ foot with her foot, “Is the Black Lake named after your family?”

“Just because it has Black in the name, doesn’t mean it was my family’s fault,” Regulus protested. “Although, in this case, it totally was,” he admitted. He leaned back against the rock, loosening his tie. They had already shucked off their outer robes, and while it wasn’t quite warm enough for Olwyn to shed her cardigan, Regulus had no such worries, and lounged by the lake in just his school shirt. He raked a hand through his hair. 

“What’s wrong?” Olwyn asked, recognizing the rare frustrated gesture. 

“It’s my father,” Regulus said with a sigh. “He’s taken ill. Again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My father...if my father was a stronger man, a better man, maybe I would be sad to know he’ll die someday soon.” Regulus frowned. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“I don’t think so,” Olwyn said, crossing her legs. 

Regulus hummed. “Though, if my father does die, then it’ll be just my mother and I left, and that really would be a situation to mourn.”

Olwyn leaned forward, resting her head on her fist. She blinked down at him, silently encouraging him to keep talking. 

“It’s not that I hate my mother,” Regulus said, letting his eyes fall closed, “Not the way Sirius does, certainly. She loves me as best she knows how, I suppose. But...well, she and Sirius were always more alike. There’s a rage in them, like a fire banked, deep inside. And when it flares up…” Regulus swallowed. 

“It gets bad,” Olwyn said, more of a statement than a question. She knew, at least theoretically, that the Black family at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place would never be considered good. 

“Yeah,” Regulus admitted. “It was worse before Sirius left. He was always so...so angry. He couldn’t ever see why he should back down or apologize. I don’t mean that my mother was right, because she wasn’t. Not always. I just wanted some peace.” He laughed, once, sadly. “I get plenty of peace these days. My father was never present, and my mother is never happy unless she’s got something to be mad about. I’ve always tried not to give her anything to work off of.” There was a long pause and Regulus stared up at the cloudy sky. Olwyn shifted, lying down next to him and brushing her fingers against the back of his hand. He turned his head and gave her the familiar quirk of his lips. He wrapped her hand in his own, anchoring them together, and turned back to stare at the shapes in the clouds. 

“I was so angry when Sirius left,” Regulus whispered. “I was so angry, but I didn’t know how to show that, because I was sad, too. He left in the middle of the night, just grabbed his school trunk and ran. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, and I was so angry with him for leaving me behind. For not taking me with him. I...it hurt. It hurt me. It still hurts. He was the closest person to me, and he abandoned me.” Olwyn turned her head to stare at his profile. A single tear leaked from the corner of his eye and made its way down his porcelain cheekbone. 

“It’s okay to hurt,” she whispered, thinking of Aunt Mercy and her lessons in the woods. “It’s okay to be angry and sad and hurt. That’s human.” 

Regulus turned his head towards her. “Why are you so wise?” he muttered. Olwyn smiled and pulled herself closer to him, He allowed it, wrapping his arms around her and letting her rest her head on his chest. They lay there for a long time, Regulus staring at the sky, and Olwyn listening to his heartbeat. 

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” he murmured. “Thank you.” 

Olwyn felt her heart flutter in a way that was becoming more and more common these days. “Of course,” she replied. 

The revelation took Olwyn utterly by surprise. There was a Quidditch game today, Gryffindor vs Slytherin in the semifinals. She sat with Pan and Lucy and Bast, cheering and groaning as the players swooped up and down the field. As usual, Olwyn kept an eye on Regulus, wanting to catch the very instant he started to dive for the Snitch. There was a tense moment, Regulus whipped his broom around and began a steep dive, hurtling towards the pitch. She and the other members of their house were on their feet, screaming; Regulus pulled out of his dive mere meters from the ground, the Snitch raised above his head in a triumphant fist. The crowd was going wild, the announcer declaring the win for Slytherin, and a fact hit Olwyn in the face like a Stunner. She sat down hard. Myrddin. She was in love with Regulus Black. She could have smacked herself. Lucy was right after all. 

Olwyn was...not entirely sure what to do with her new revelation. She could ask Lucy for advice, but she would be unbearably smug, and Olwyn wasn’t sure it was such a big deal, anyway. It was just a crush. She could ask Pandora, but Pan had no more experience with handling crushes than she did, so she couldn’t be much help. Any of the boys would go straight to Regulus with the information, which was a possibility if she decided she wanted him to know without telling him herself. No, no, better safe than sorry. Keep it in your head for now, Olwyn told herself. 

Then there was the issue of the Horcruxes. She had told Oswald what they were, but she couldn’t be sure of where they would be before certain dates, or even that they were made yet, at all. It was a prickly dilemma, as Voldemort was only gaining power as she waited for the right time to try and defeat him. She couldn’t just wait for Harry to do it; not only would that take too long, but it would cost her too many people she now held dear. Huh. She was far more emotionally involved in this time than she thought she’d be. Waiting for James and Lily to die was not an option, nor was allowing Regulus to go to his death in the cave. That fear made more sense, in light of her most recent revelation. Now she was back full circle, thinking about the Regulus problem again. She considered it as she made her way towards the rock by the lake that had become her and Regulus’ meeting place. They could talk more freely there than in the library, and there was no one to yell at them if they happened to activate one or two of the more experimental Rune lines. 

They had moved on from the Ogham Fews in this new semester, and were studying the uses of certain Hanja characters in relation to alchemy symbols. It was a beautiful system, but it required a level of focus and precision in one’s own magical force that Olwyn found hard to achieve. Her magic wanted to do everything by brute force and sheer willpower, which was fine, but if one was going to properly use the circle of characters and symbols Regulus was currently sketching out on a large rock in chalk, one would need to use his sort of magical power, sharp and fine as a razor’s edge. 

Olwyn made her steps heavier as she approached, not wanting to startle Regulus and risk him making a mistake out of jumpiness. 

“Hello, Olwyn,” he called, not looking up from the repeating symbol for water that he was chalking into the rough surface of the rock. 

“What’s all this for, then?” she asked, genuinely curious. She could read the characters alright, and the symbols were child’s play, but reading circular configurations gave her headaches. Regulus had taken to it like a fish to water, though, and had already far surpassed even Oswald’s knowledge of the discipline, although he had been able to recommend some reference books. 

“Right,” Regulus said, standing up and letting the chalk fall into the grass. “Let’s see if this will work.” 

“You didn’t tell me what was supposed to be working in the first place,” Olwyn muttered, but she did take a step back, just to be safe. Regulus inhaled deeply through his nose and knelt, pressing his fingertips to the activation rune like a pianist. The characters sparked, silver and blue, and then, the rock was no longer a rock but a cloud. A cloud, resting right on the edge of the Black Lake. 

“Regulus!” she gasped, moving forward. “This is incredible!”

“It was just a silly passing thought,” he said, brushing off her compliment as irrelevant. “I imagined what it would be like to sit on a cloud, while we here studying last. And well, we can’t sit on an actual cloud, but this is the next best thing.”

“No,” Olwyn beamed, turning towards him, “This is even better.” 

Regulus stared at her for a moment, before his face broke into one of his rare smiles. He looked so handsome, Olwyn realized, grinning like that. Regulus leapt up on top of the rock-turned-cloud, testing to make sure it would hold his weight. He turned to Olwyn and offered her his hand. “My lady,” he drawled in a mockery of his own posh manners, helping her up onto the cloud. They settled down on the puffy things, surrounded by wisps that faded into the blue of the late afternoon sky. Olwyn looked out over the lake. If things could stay like this forever, she thought, her life would be perfect. 

They stayed out later than they ought, but Olwyn was unwilling to leave the dreamlike cloud that Regulus had created for them. So they stayed, setting bubbles of golden light to floating around them when it got too dark to read. 

“And I swear,” Regulus said, “I have never heard a shriek like that before or since. Cissy absolutely flew out of there, and Sirius was laughing too hard to follow her.” He shook his head at the memory he was recounting to Olwyn, of Sirius and their cousins and the more carefree days of their childhood. Olwyn stared up at him, her chin resting on her fist. He almost glowed in the witch-lights she had summoned, and the cloud they were perched upon completed the vision, and maybe this was just a dream, after all. 

Olwyn glanced at Regulus’ wrist where he had rested his outstretched hand close to her knee. The face of his face glinted in the light, and the dials glowed. Olwyn gasped, grabbing his wrist and pulling it towards herself. No, she hadn’t read the time wrong; it really was almost eleven at night. 

“Oh stars,” she moaned, “Regulus, we’ve missed curfew. We’ve missed curfew by a lot.” Regulus pulled his arm back to look for himself. He cursed under his breath. ‘We need to go,” Olwyn said, clambering to her feet. Reluctantly, Regulus followed. Before they left, Olwyn banished her witch light, and Regulus scrubbed out the activation rune, turning their magical cloud back into a regular old stone. 

“This way,” Regulus said, pulling her away from the main doors and towards the greenhouses. Olwyn followed; Regulus knew the school better than she did. He led them up the path, past the greenhouses and ducked into the cloisters near the Charms classroom. 

“Be very quiet,” he whispered, “there are prefects on patrol, and we do not want to be caught.” Olwyn nodded in solemn agreement. Regulus crept forward and slid his finger under the handle of the door, pulling it towards himself with a flick of his wrist. The door was only meant to open from the inside, but it swung towards them. Regulus grabbed her hand and looked both ways down the hall before pulling her inside and closing the door.

Sneaking through the dark halls of the school well past curfew was surprisingly amusing to Olwyn. It felt like a game, Regulus stopping every now and then to check around corners before pulling her along as quietly as he could manage. Everything was going well until they made it into the dungeons. They were a few corridors away from the common room when they heard the sound of footsteps and a wavering wandlight appearing at the next corner. Regulus glanced around quickly, before pulling Olwyn into a small alcove, shielded from view by a statue of a rather portly man. Regulus had to duck down to fit into the space, and Olwyn was pressed right up against him, inhaling the scent of his cologne and feeling his hair brush her forehead. 

Later, when she lay in bed, she would try to think of a reason to justify why she did it, an explanation of some sort. All she knew in the moment, however, with Regulus’ face so close to hers, and his arm around her shoulders and his breath tickling her cheek, was that she had no other choice. So she pitched forward, only just a little, and pressed her mouth to Regulus’. His lips were soft, and they parted a little as he gasped. There was a moment where he seemed to tilt his head, to fit their mouths more securely against each other, and his hand seemed to tighten on her shoulder. But then he pulled back, suddenly, and stared down at Olwyn with wide eyes. And she stared right back up at him and worried that maybe she had just ruined the most important friendship in her life. 

_Aunt Mercy,_

_I'm...well, to be honest, I'm not great. I'm in love, but...but I think I may have messed up. I don't know what to do._

_Olwyn_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think we're ever really going to get a full run-down of exactly what happened in the War Against Magic, but I think there's probably enough to give you an idea. 
> 
> Also...I have my own thoughts of how things happened in the Black family, and more specifically, at Grimmauld Place, but I'd love to hear other interpretations, if you disagree. It'll become more prevalent later in the story, but for now...poor Regulus. 
> 
> In case you hadn't noticed, I've basically abandoned a strict upload schedule, but will be aiming for twice a week or so. I've also got some other short stories in the series now, so yay. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> -Blue


	8. Part One: Eight

Olwyn had stared at the canopy above her bed for longer than she cared to admit that night. Regulus hadn’t said a word to her after she had kissed him, just stared until Olwyn reminded him that they were sneaking around the castle at night for a reason. They had gotten back to the common room just fine, but now Olwyn was left with a weight on her chest and waves of nausea in her stomach. She thought she might be sick at any moment, so when Lucy asked, she told her as much. Lucy left for class, trailing promises to tell their professors and to check in on her at lunch. Which left Olwyn to sort out her thoughts. 

With a sigh, she whispered her password at the nightstand drawer and reached in to pull out the familiar red journal she stored inside. She flipped through the pages until she reached 1979. Her father hadn’t known much about the dates of Regulus’ actual disappearance, never mind when Kreacher was actually taken to the cave, or even when Regulus became a Death Eater in the first place. The sparse bullet points that listed out the last days of Regulus Black’s life seemed to glare at her from the page. She shut the journal with an irritated sigh. Trying to save Regulus, she reminded herself, really didn’t have anything to do with her having kissed him. 

The trouble was, she didn’t know what to feel. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. She knew she was probably in love with Regulus, and that he most likely considered her a close friend, if the stories he’d shared were anything to go by. And yeah, maybe some of the things he’d done could be construed as romantic, if she looked at them the right way, and they did flirt, possibly, on occasion. But how was she going to find out for sure? 

That was a stupid question. She’d have to ask him outright. She cringed at the very thought. It was one thing to confront Regulus when she hadn’t done anything wrong; it was quite another to do so when really all she had done was embarrass herself. She groaned. Romance was stupid. 

Olwyn sat in bed all day, moping and feeling sorry for herself. She accepted the scone and apple that Lucy brought her at lunchtime, along with the way she stroked her hair and murmured comforting words. She rolled around in bed, tried to study for Defense, and thought about Regulus some more. She had never before been tempted to use Lucy’s favorite word, but ‘dishy’ really was the best way to describe the way Regulus looked when he was concentrated on his work, his dark hair a mess and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But thinking about his forearms just brought her back around to his future as a Death Eater and how on earth she could possibly keep him alive. 

It was when everyone was at dinner that the idea finally struck her. She would ask Oswald about it. That was something older brothers were supposed to be good for, right? Advice? Oz would know what to do. She’d go to his office after dinner. 

Olwyn knew she was probably a sight when Oswald opened his office door. His eyebrows were raised as high as they’d go and his mouth was hanging open a bit. Her hair was a mess, her jumper was large enough to swallow her whole, and she most likely had vicious dark circles under her eyes. 

“Erm,” he said, “Hey. Rosier the girl told me you weren’t feeling well today; I was going to write you a note. Come in.” 

Olwyn wiped her face with her sleeve and followed him into the quiet office. “I need advice,” she said, taking her usual chair across from his desk. 

“Sure,” he shrugged. 

“Advice about...well, love advice.” 

Oswald narrowed his eyes. “It’s Black, isn’t it?”  
“How do you know that!” Olwyn cried, throwing up her hands. “I mean, it is,” she admitted, “But how could you tell?” 

“You’re clearly close to him,” Oz explained, “You’re together all the time, even when you aren’t studying. And you aren’t really the type to crush on every cute boy who stumbles into your path, are you?” Olwyn shook her head. “I don’t know,” he continued, “It seems obvious enough.”

Olwyn groaned and rested her forehead on the edge of his desk, staring at the stone floor. 

“So what’s the problem?” Oswald asked, “It looks like it’s going pretty well to me.” 

“It was,” Olwyn admitted, then winced. “But last night...ugh, this is embarrassing. Okay. Long story short, last night, I kissed him.” There was a long pause. 

“Go on,” Oswald prompted. “You kissed him and then?”

“That’s the problem!” Olwyn cried, throwing herself back into her chair. “There was no ‘and then’! He just stared at me and then we went to bed! He didn’t even say anything!”

“To be fair,” Oz pointed out, “You didn’t say anything either, it seems.” 

Olwyn pouted. “Well, no,” she admitted, “But I was the one who kissed him in the first place! That should have been my part! That should have been enough.” To her horror, she found herself sniffling a little. She furiously wiped her sleeve across her eyes. 

“You love him,” Oz observed, quieter now, more serious. Olwyn nodded. “Olwyn,” he warned, “I’ve read your journal, next year-”

“I know,” Olwyn shouted, suddenly angry, “I know what it says, probably better than you do. But I can change it. I can save him, Oz, I have to.” 

Oswald gave her a look that was too sad for his usually upbeat face. She stared back at him, willing him to say something, anything. But he only sighed, then nodded. 

“You need to talk to him,” Oz murmured, “Really, honestly talk to him. That’s the only way.” 

Olwyn deflated. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

It took Lucy all of one breakfast to work out that something was wrong with Olwyn, and that that something had to do with Regulus Black. It was times like these that Olwyn wished her friend was less perceptive. 

“What happened?” Lucy hissed as they took their seats for Charms, but Olwyn only shook her head. In front of them, Evan was poking a stone-faced Regulus in the side, and if Olwyn knew the Rosier twins, he was asking the same questions. She blushed at the thought. Lucy sighed. “I’ll get it out of you eventually,” she muttered. 

It wasn’t that she was avoiding Regulus, per se. She just...wasn’t seeking him out. And, in all fairness, he wasn’t seeking her out either. He avoided her eyes and didn’t speak directly to her, and as strange as it was for them, Olwyn couldn’t help but feel she deserved it. They spent almost an entire week as strangers. 

Olwyn sighed. Lucy had asked to meet her in one of the unused classrooms so that she could help her with nonverbal Charms. It wasn’t a bother; Olwyn liked helping her friends, usually. It was just that this had been a very long day, and she would like nothing better than to curl up under a blanket until it was time for dinner. She checked the number beside the door. 309. This was it, but she couldn’t see Lucy anywhere. Maybe she was already waiting inside, and even if she wasn’t, Olwyn would be stupid not to at least check. She pushed the door open.

She stared at the occupants of the room, and Regulus Black and Evan Rosier stared right back at her. Regulus seemed confused, but Evan’s eyes were too sharp for Olwyn to believe that this was an accident. She narrowed her eyes. Lucy had been doing rather well in Charms, now that she thought about it. She took a few steps into the room, determined to question Evan, but he leapt up and danced around her until he was the one closest to the door. 

“Right, well,” he declared, “Sort yourselves out!” He saluted Olwyn and Regulus before dashing out of the room and slamming the door closed behind him. A violet glow from around the doorframe suggested a spell of some sort had been cast to lock them in. 

“That smarmy bastard,” Olwyn gasped. She marched over to the door. “Alohomora!” she tried, but the spell did nothing. 

“They wouldn’t have used something so simple to undo,” Regulus drawled from the desk he was leaning against, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn together like storm clouds. 

“They?” Olwyn questioned. 

“I assume it wasn’t Evan who asked you here, was it?” 

“Damn the Rosiers,” Olwyn groaned, pulling out one of the chairs. 

“Is it really so awful to talk to me?” Regulus muttered, glaring at his shoes. For a long moment, Olwyn was speechless. That was...the last thing she’d expected him to complain about. 

“No,” she managed, still confused as to why Regulus sounded so offended. 

“I’ll apologize,” he sighed, “If that will help.”

“Apologize for what?”

Regulus glanced up at her, so quickly she thought she might have imagined it, and pink stained his normally ivory cheeks. “For kissing you,” he muttered, refusing to make eye contact. 

“You think you kissed me?” she blurted out. That was news to her. Olwyn was positive that it had been her who had leaned forward and pressed their mouths together, but here was Regulus, blushing and offering to apologize. He was giving her a weird look, as if he wasn’t sure what she was saying. 

“Isn’t that why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asked. 

Olwyn thought back to the past week, and reconsidered. If Regulus thought he was the one to kiss her...and then she didn’t say anything...and then she hid in the dorm for an entire day, and then...when she came out...she didn’t talk to him. 

“I thought you were avoiding me?” she said, although it came out as a question. Regulus groaned. 

“We’re idiots, I think,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, probably,” Olwyn readily agreed. She got up from her chair and moved to sit next to Regulus on the desk. “I thought I was the one who kissed you,” she admitted, “And that you were mad about it. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.” She stared down at her lap, her fingers twisting in the hem of her school skirt. Regulus had gone very, very still next to her.

“I wouldn’t be angry,” he said, softly, as though he was afraid of being heard. “If you wanted to kiss me, I mean.” Olwyn glanced up. Regulus’ grey eyes were staring at the ceiling, but his blush was rapidly becoming impressively vibrant. 

“You wouldn’t?” she asked. He shook his head. “Then...can I do it again?” Olwyn was, admittedly, shocked at her own boldness, but Regulus nodded. Olwyn put a hand on his cheek, tilting his face towards her. His eyes finally met hers. The weight of his stormy gaze, heavy at the best of times, was suffocating and electrifying in the same moment. Olwyn wasn’t sure if she was drowning or flying but she wasn’t sure it mattered. He glanced down at her mouth, and the tip of a pink tongue flashed out to wet his lips. Olwyn inhaled, the sharpness of his cologne surrounding her, completing the bubble they made around themselves. 

When Olwyn kissed Regulus Black for the second time, it was with intention. She had one hand on his jaw, pulling them together, and she was fairly certain she would never let go. Regulus allowed it for a long moment, the gentle press of her lips against his, before he pulled back slightly, only to kiss her again. And again, and again, tangling his fingers in her long hair and driving every thought she’d ever had from her mind. 

When she had tucked herself under his chin, his arms wrapped around her and her face pressed into his shoulder, he said, “Go out with me.” 

“Okay,” she agreed, her heart fluttering in that way she didn’t think she’d ever get used to. She could feel his smile against her temple. 

To say that Lucy was unimpressed was like saying that the ocean was wet; it gave no sense of scope. When Olwyn and Regulus had finally gotten around to working out the counter for the spell Evan had used on the door and ambled down to dinner, hand in hand, she had been laying in wait at their usual spot at the Slytherin table. And Merlin, did she pounce. 

“Finally worked it out, did you?” she scoffed, eyeing their entwined hands. Next to her, Bast chuckled into his chicken pie. 

“For once, I agree with Lu. Took you long enough,” Evan piped up, waving his fork at his sister in acknowledgement. 

“Yes, yes,” Regulus drawled, “It’s all very amusing and what-not. Stop gawking.” But when he sat down, he pulled Olwyn into the seat beside him, instead of taking one across from her. She smiled at him, and underneath the table, where their fingers were still tangled together, he squeezed her hand. 

It was actually astonishing how little had changed, now that she and Regulus had moved from friends to dating. They still sat with their friends at meals, went to their classes dutifully, and studied together by the lake. It was mostly just that now, studying by the lake often turned into kissing by the lake instead. Olwyn, for one, was not complaining; kissing Regulus Black had to be one of the best things in the world. 

She had celebrated Beltane with Regulus, lighting a ‘bonfire’ in the grate of the fireplace in the common room and draping flowers and hawthorn branches over every available surface. Evan, Lucy, and Bast had joined them. Bast celebrated the old holidays when he was at home, but admitted that he’d never really felt comfortable doing so at Hogwarts. He spent a lot of time explaining the different holidays to a rapt Lucy. They had all burnt stick effigies, in the end, and Olwyn tried to release her fear of the future with the smoke.

They had gone to Hogsmeade together, on the last weekend of the year, and spent the day wandering the little village, ducking into any shop that caught their fancy, spending almost an hour in Tomes and Scrolls before meeting their friends at the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer, and completing the day by snogging against a secluded tree on the way back to the castle. The very thought of it made Olwyn blush and let out a little sigh, which invariably caused Lucy to groan and Pandora to pull a rather disgusted face.

End of term exams, though, waited for no budding romance, and were creeping closer and closer every day. Olwyn found herself in the library more evening than not, her friends gathered around one of the tables in the library, trading tips and facts and strategies for the classes which had set practical exams. But, at least once or twice a week, she and Regulus studied alone on their rock by the lake. 

Olwyn was sitting with a heavy Transfiguration book on her lap, ostensibly puzzling through one of the human transfiguration diagrams that McGonagall had sworn would be on the exam, but really, she was far more interested in watching the Giant Squid make ripples through the water. Regulus was lying on his stomach next to her, nose buried in a Potions textbook. 

“Where do you stay, over the holidays?” he asked suddenly, not looking up from his book. Olwyn froze. “I don’t think you’ve ever said,” he continued, not noticing her building panic.

She had two choices, she realized. She could lie to him and say she was staying with Oswald in London, or she could come clean about staying at Pottershall. She should probably lie, she knew, but even the thought of it made snakes writhe in her stomach, and she knew she’d never fool him. 

“I, um,” she started. She paused. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She fixed her eyes on the opposite shoreline. “I’m staying at Pottershall, actually,” she admitted in a rush, “My brother knows Euphemia Potter.” This was true, as Oswald was a Runes Master and Euphemia was well-known to be proficient at warding. It did leave out the Order of the Phoenix bit, but that wasn’t her secret to tell. 

“Oh,” Regulus said. He was still for a long moment, then sat up quickly, so suddenly he startled Olwyn into spilling her book out of her lap. Regulus knelt in front of her, his eyes burning with that silver fire. He grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t fall in love with my brother,” he commanded, looking dead into her eyes. 

Olwyn squinted. “What?” she asked, not sure she’d heard correctly. Regulus flushed, but didn’t let her go.

“My brother,” he said, “Sirius. He can be very charming, I know, but he’s sort of awful and you’re definitely not his type.” 

Olwyn stared at Regulus. He was actually serious about this. He was actually worried. “Regulus,” she said, slowly, to make sure he heard, “I wouldn’t trade you for anyone, much less your obnoxious, self-righteous arse of a brother.” 

Regulus stared at her, his lips parted. He huffed. He let go of her shoulders and settled down next to her. 

“You know,” Olwyn observed, “That was not the way I thought you’d react to me staying at Pottershall.”

“How did you think I’d act?” he asked, puzzled. 

“I don’t know,” Olwyn shrugged, “I thought you might be angry.” 

“I’m not,” Regulus said, then sighed. “I’m a little sad that you thought you had to hide it,” he admitted, “but that’s all.” 

Olwyn felt a smile tugging at her lips. “You, Regulus Black, are ridiculous.” 

“You like it.”

“I do.”

Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup that year for the first time since James Potter had joined the Gryffindor team five years prior. Regulus pulled off a spectacular dive at the very last moment, giving Slytherin the 100-point victory. Olwyn screamed herself hoarse when he did, and showed off her pride by letting him kiss her thoroughly in front of the entire common room, to Evan’s very vocal disgust. Lucy probably would have had something to say about it, but she had long since disappeared with Bast to a quiet corner. 

Exams came and went, and Olwyn felt confident that she had done well in all of them. She knew her Runes grade already, of course, because Oswald had told her, teasing her about being only just at the top of the class, with Regulus a mere point behind her. Slughorn must have thought she’d done well, too, because he invited her to the final Slug Club dinner of the year, alongside Regulus and the usual suspects. She boarded the train feeling satisfied that her first year at Hogwarts had gone as well as it possibly could. 

“Oh, stars,” Olwyn moaned as Regulus pressed his open mouth to the side of her neck, his hands wandering under the hem of the school shirt she had yet to change out of. She should probably feel bad about ditching her friends on the train ride back to King’s Cross, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not with the way Regulus was pressing her against the bench in a locked train compartment. 

“Merlin, love,” he whispered in her ear, “You drive me mad.” 

Olwyn grinned. “Good,” she murmured back, running her hands up his chest to play with the collar of his shirt. 

“I’m going to miss you,” Regulus said, pulling back a little further so he could look her in the eye. She raised a hand to cup his cheek.

“I’ll miss you too.”

He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “We should get back to the others, we’ll be in London too soon.” 

Olwyn groaned, but sat up, running her fingers through her dishevled hair and attempting to arrange her clothes so it looked less like Regulus had just had his hand up her shirt. Regulus turned away from her with a blush, fiddling with his belt and the...result of his enthusiasm. Olwyn reached up to try to fix his mussed hair, laughing a little. 

“It’s not funny,” Regulus complained, “I can’t help it.” 

“I know,” she said, but the smile didn’t leave her face. Regulus only rolled his eyes.

Saying goodbye for almost an entire three months was harder than she’d expected. Lucy looked close to tears when she’d given Olwyn a massive hug, and even Bast had pulled her into a side-hug, muttering about getting together in Diagon Alley before school started. Eventually, Evan had had to pull Lucy away to where their parents were waiting, and the group began to dissipate. Regulus kissed her, swiftly, quietly, and whispered promises to write and hopes for the summer in her ear. Then she was left to make her way to where Oswald was waiting, her trunk bumping along behind her. 

“You better not be letting Black get too handsy,” he warned as she approached, but his massive shit-eating grin said he probably wasn’t too worried about it. “Fair warning, Lily and James are getting married at the end of the month, and Pottershall has descended entirely into wedding chaos. Just thought you should know.” 

Olwyn grinned. A wedding sounded fun; Lily and James’ wedding, though, sounded like a truly spectacular event. “What are we waiting for?” Olwyn said, “Let’s go!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olwyn and Regulus have gotten their shit together. I'm pretty sure Olwyn is one of the most oblivious characters I've ever written, but in her defence, she does have quite a bit on her mind.
> 
> I know Evan ends up being a Death Eater, but like...he's fun, right now, at least. I really enjoy writing him. 
> 
> I would also like to remind you that this fic will have a rating change; Olwyn and Regulus are horny teenagers, after all. I'll change it when the chapter comes up, but I just want to give a warning.
> 
> Next chapter, we're back at Pottershall!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it,
> 
> -Blue


	9. Part Two: One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two begins! Which just basically covers seventh year, but I wanted to divide it up somehow. 
> 
> Everything will get trickier from here on out for Olwyn, but hey, at least she gets to see James and Lily get married.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> -Blue

_ Aunt Mercy, _

_ I got it together, as you told me to. Regulus Black and I are officially dating (!!!) and we even have plans to meet up this summer. I’m trying not to gush about it, for my owl’s sake. If I said everything I wanted to say about him, I think the letter might be too heavy to fly with…. _

_ Needless to say, it’s going well. _

_ I hope Alban Hefin treats the Grove kindly this year, as every other. _

_ Olwyn _

Pottershall, when Oswald and Olwyn arrived, was full of people and extraordinarily loud. Olwyn was attempting to tug her trunk over the lintel when Lily appeared, spilling out of the corridor with an exasperated sigh. 

“Olwyn!” she cried, when she spotted her, “Welcome back!” She rushed over, her red hair trailing behind her like a banner, and swept Olwyn into a bone-crushing hug. Olwyn blinked. She hadn’t realized that Lily thought so fondly of her. “Sorry the house is so…” Lily gestured with her hands, trying to convey the chaos that Olwyn could hear coming from the main Hall. “Noisy,” Lily settled on, giving up on finding a better word for it. “You’re in the same room as last time,” she continued, helping Olwyn pull her trunk fully into the house. “Once you’re settled, come down to the main Hall, if you like. You’ll find it by the noise, I’m sure.” Lily scrunched up her nose. Someone in the Hall chose that moment to let out a particularly loud shriek, and Olwyn would’ve bet good money that it was James. 

Entering the Hall was like walking into a war zone. Based on the riot of flowers and crepe paper, they were probably supposed to be working on decorations, but that was clearly not what was actually happening. Oswald was leaning against the wall nearest the door, lazily sipping from a bottle of butterbeer and chatting to the tall, dark-haired man next to him. A safe choice, it seemed. 

“Olwyn,” Oz greeted, “There you are. This is Frank.”

The man standing next to him was a good half a head taller, probably about as tall as Regulus, although he was wearing a warm and welcoming smile. “Frank Longbottom,” he said, sticking out his hand. “My wife, Alice, is Lily’s maid of honor. She’s...there.” Frank gestured to the center of the room. Olwyn paused, looking closer. Was that...were those bubbles? What she had taken to be a sort of amorphous blob was actually piles upon piles of tiny pink bubbles, all gathered into a central area and held there, seemingly, by a wand in the hand of Remus Lupin. Peter was sitting on the floor, desperately repairing several lengths of wide ivory ribbon, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. She could hear Lily ranting from the other side of the quivering cloud of bubbles, and the quieter protestations of James attempting to defend himself. Alice Longbottom was, presumably, somewhere over there too. Which left the question...where was Sirius Black? 

“Hey, Remus,” Olwyn said as she picked her way through a battlefield of craft supply carnage. 

“Oh, hey, Olwyn,” Remus replied casuaully, although he didn’t lower his wand. Now that she was close, she could see the faint glimmer of a shield covering the undulating pink mass. She opened her mouth.

“Don’t ask,” Peter said from the floor, not looking up from his careful examination of the now-repaired ribbons. “You don’t want to know.” He glanced up and shook his head, a vaguely traumatized look on his face. 

“I kind of have to,” Olwyn protested, indicating the massive, quivering wall of bubbles. They were a rather fetching shade of pink, really. Like cherry blossoms. “Where’s Sirius?”

“In here,” Remus explained jovially, a wide grin on his face. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, and made him look more deranged than happy. 

“Oh,” Olwyn said. She couldn’t really think of anything else. 

“He can’t figure out how to stop the bubbles, you see,” Remus explained. “The prat thought it would be a good idea to test a new ‘bubble bomb’. Indoors.” Remus shook his head. “It’s a barely-contained catastrophe, as you can see. He’s a menace.”

“Yeah,” snorted Peter, “But he’s your menace.” 

Remus hummed. “For now,” he admitted through clenched teeth. Olwyn almost felt bad for Sirius, knowing the dressing-down that was likely waiting for him when he made it out of the bubble cloud. If he made it out of the bubble cloud. 

“Olwyn!” called James, sticking his head around the pink blob. “You’re back!” He, too, swept her up in a hug, only he also spun her around a few times for good measure. Lily appeared, arms crossed and jaw clenched, followed by a petite blonde girl who Olwyn assumed must be Alice. 

“Remus, can’t you control them?” Lily complained. 

“Nope!” Remus replied, “Though rest assured, it’s not for lack of trying.” 

“Hi! I’m Alice,” the blonde chirped. 

“Olwyn Hawthorne.”

“Oh, Oswald’s little sister!” Alice said, clapping her hands together. “How was Hogwarts? You’ve just finished your sixth year, right?” 

“Yeah,” Olwyn said with a rueful little smile. She was missing the castle already. 

There came an ungodly cry from within the bubble mass. Slowly, the pink faded and the cloud became more and more transparent until the shape of Sirius Black could be made out in the midst. Evidently, the shriek had been one of triumph. Eventually, when they could see Sirius’ thrilled grin, Remus deemed it safe to release his shield. 

“I did it!” Sirius cried. “It wasn’t so bad after all, turns out there isn’t actually a counter-spell, but the bubbles were created with this equation I’ve studied before, right, so I knew-” 

“Shut up,” Remus admonished, thwacking him in the back of the head. 

“Sorry, Moony,” Sirius grinned. He didn’t even have the grace to look chastised. Remus rolled his eyes skyward in a silent prayer for deliverance. 

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I’m clever and fit and you love it when I-” 

“OKAY,” James yelled. “Now that that particular crisis is averted, maybe we should go have dinner?” 

The wedding itself was just over two weeks away. It would be held on the ground of Pottershall; the ceremony would be held under a massive oak tree, with a massive tent set up in the garden for a reception afterwards. It wasn’t a long guest list, but Olwyn recognized more than a few of the names on it from her father’s history books. 

Two days before the wedding, Olwyn received a letter from Regulus. The imperious-looking eagle owl had taken off almost as soon as she’d untied the twine, but she was sure someone would have an owl she could borrow, to respond. She took the letter to the library after breakfast to read in the privacy of the sofa by the window. She slid her thumb under the seal, feeling strangely unwilling to ruin the crest set into the dark grey wax. 

‘Olwyn, my dearest,’ the letter read, and Olwyn had to stop for a moment to giggle. Regulus sometimes sounded like a nineteenth century gentleman, and apparently it was even more pronounced when he wrote. She shook her head, filled with a sudden affection. 

_ Olwyn, my dearest, _

_ I hope my letter finds you well. I know it has hardly been a fortnight since we said goodbye at King’s Cross, but I admit, I can’t stop thinking of you. Even my dreams are haunted by your presence. Please do not take offence to the use of the word haunted; I only mean that I miss you, quite severely. I did not realize what light you brought to my life until we were parted.  _

_ Number Twelve is never without visitors, it seems. My mother spends her days in the company of pureblood wives who hate her almost as much as she hates them, while my father and their husbands lock themselves in the study for hours on end, smoking cigars and discussing business. I pray that I will never be like my father, so desperate to avoid the woman to whom he is bound. I hope you would not let me.  _

_ I’ve told you in the past, I know, that I sometimes miss Sirius and his antics, and that is never more pronounced than when we have family gatherings. This Sunday last, we all were at Nights Folly for dinner, and I was forced to spend time not just with Cissa but her dreadful husband, Lucius Malfoy. He makes even Father seem honest. Cousin Bella was there, too, although she left Rodolphus at home. I avoid her, most of all. I spoke instead to Grandfather and his sister, my Great-Aunt Cassiopeia. I believe you and Aunt Cassie would get on like a house on fire; I shiver at the mere thought of your combined genius. Grandfather asked after you. I told him that I had been courting you. I hope you do not mind.  _

_ I hope all is going well at Pottershall. I know that James Potter is to be married soon, to Lily Evans. Mother and her friends are all in a tizzy, because James Potter is from a respectable old family, and should not be marrying so far below his station, in their opinion. I might have agreed, had the lady in question been anyone but Miss Evans. I remember her from school; I doubt there is another who could match Potter, blow for blow. A formidable witch, to be sure. _

_ I miss you most desperately, my darling. I hope we can meet soon. Write back when you’re able, please, for my sanity’s sake if nothing else.  _

_ All my love, _

_ R. A. Black _

Olwyn sighed, pressing the parchment to her chest. She missed him. She let her eyes drift closed as she thought of the last time she’d seen him, standing on the platform in his black robes, holding her tight. 

“Alright there, Olwyn?” 

Her eyes flew open with a gasp. Lily dropped onto the sofa next to her, raising her eyebrows at how far Olwyn had jumped. 

“You startled me,” Olwyn breathed. 

“I can tell. Nice letter, I take it?” Lily’s tone was teasing. Olwyn blushed, but nodded. “A special someone, perhaps?” Lily continued, waggling her eyebrows in a suggestive way. 

“Yeah,” Olwyn admitted, “But you can’t tell anyone! James and Sirius would never let me live it down. It’s bad enough that Oswald knows!”

Lily laughed. “Your secret is safe with me,” she promised. Then she paused, a darker look creeping over her face. “Just, Olwyn. I know being in Slytherin doesn’t mean anything, but...be careful, would you? There are...dark things at work, in the magical world, and I want you to be safe.” 

Olwyn smiled. “Of course I will be,” she assured her friend. Lily let the subject drop, but her words ate at Olwyn’s heart. She glanced at her friend, who was staring serenly out of the window, twisting a lock of brilliant red hair around her finger. ‘Marrying far below his station’, Regulus had written. ‘Had it been anyone else’. She had known, in an abstract sort of way, that he was prejudiced not just against Muggles, but Muggleborns, as well. Such thinking ran deep in the rich old pureblood families, and he was no exception. Myrddin, she knew he meant to join the Death Eaters, knew that he would most likely murder for a maniac’s bloodthirsty cause. Owlyn stared down that the seal she had been so careful to preserve. She wanted to stop him from joining Voldemort’s cause, but she had no idea how. She thought of the timeline written out in the wine-red journal she had locked away in her room and wondered, guiltily, if it was even right to try. Was attempting to stop him, to change the course of history to suit her own heart, anything other than selfish? 

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” Lily murmured, still staring out of the window, “You know you can talk about it, right?” 

“I know,” Olwyn said, but this was one problem that she could not unload onto Lily. This was her struggle to work out. She smiled at Lily anyways. 

The wedding day dawned clear and hot. The wedding party was moving about the house early, starting preparations, and when Olwyn went to the kitchen for breakfast, it was only Oswald and Fleamont Potter who sat at the table. 

“Morning,” she yawned, pulling out a chair for herself. Oswald nodded. 

“Good morning,” Fleamont returned with a smile. He folded his paper with a sigh. “You know,” he mused, “I never thought James would find a girl so willing to put up with him.” 

Olwyn laughed. “Mr Potter, I don’t know if you’re supposed to say that about your own son.”

“Eh, he’s a terror,” Fleamont said, waving off her concerns, “If I can’t say it, who can?” 

Olwyn shook her head, amused. She was looking forward to this day, she found. The Potters and those close to them were so warm, so full of light and life, that one couldn’t help but want to see them happy. 

The morning melted into afternoon, and Olwyn helped set up the tent and hang decorations. She had seen Remus and Sirius and Peter, but never all three at once. Euphemia was most likely with Lily, and Lily’s own mother, who had arrived shortly after lunch. Lily’s father sat smoking a pipe with Fleamont on the back patio. The tree where Lily and James were to be married was draped in crepe streamers and flowers, the satin ribbons Peter had fixed hanging in an arch over the white marble font that would be used for the ceremony. Chairs had been set up, and a thick carpet of flower petals lined the aisle Lily would walk down later that day. 

An hour before the ceremony was due to start, Olwyn retreated to her room to change and get ready for the ceremony. She could hear the guests arriving in the reception hall below, and wondered if Dumbledore was already there. He was going to be the one to marry them. Olwyn pulled her pale blue robes over her head. She hadn’t seen much of the Headmaster that year; rumor had it that he was often away from the castle, filling one of his many other roles in Wizarding society. It showed how much he cared about the Potters, she decided, that he would take the time to not only attend their wedding, but to actually marry them. 

She belted her robe with a length of dark blue ribbon instead of a leather belt and began working on the series of braids and twists in her hair that were symbols in the Hawthorne clan. She had chosen a pattern that symbolized both luck and love, and even if no one but Oswald would know what it meant, she would feel better for wearing it. Braiding her hair brought her comfort; it was something her mother had taught her to do when she was very young. She tucked the end of a braid into the bun she had created and slid one of the long pins Aunt Mercy had given her into the middle of it. 

Her mother would not be present if Olwyn ever got married. She would never again feel her mother’s fingers running through her hair, or hear her humming as she wrestled Olwyn’s long hair into obedience. Olwyn stared at her face in the mirror and wondered if she looked even more like her mother now, a year older. A tear ran down Olwyn's cheek and she brushed it away, shaking her head as if that could dislodge her thoughts. There was no use in missing her parents; they were beyond her reach now, forever. The only thing she could do was honor their memory. 

Olwyn sat next to Oswald before the massive oak tree swaying with flowers and pink streamers. James was standing underneath the arch, looking like he was about to crawl out of his skin. Dumbledore stood behind the marble font, his face serene and his robes a relatively sedate shade of green. On James’ other side, Sirius leaned over to whisper something in his ear with a massive shit-eating grin. Whatever he said, it made James blanch and elbow him. 

The music swelled, and a young girl with a serious look on her face and bright, bubblegum pink hair trotted down the aisle, tossing handfuls of flower petals into the air where they spiralled and hung, supported by magic, as if caught in the middle of a frozen breeze. Alice came next, with a smile so wide Olwyn thought her face might split, followed by two women Olwyn didn’t recognize, and then everyone was standing, craning their necks for a glimpse of the bride as she made her way down the aisle on her father’s arm. 

Lily was radiant. It was the only word for it. Her dress was simple, ivory silk and tulle, a full skirt and a long veil. Her eyes shone a brilliant emerald in the late afternoon sun, seeking out the love of her life as he waited for her at the altar. James was enthralled, unable to look away as Lily approached. When her father kissed her cheek and Alice took her bouquet so she could take her place next to him, Owlyn thought he might cry. Even Sirius was wearing a soft, genuine smile. Dumbledore raised his arms and the music fell. The ceremony began. 

It was clear to everyone present that the new Mr and Mrs Potter were deeply in love. They had eyes only for each other as friends and family congratulated them, ignoring the laughter and the small talk and the flashing of the camera in favor of staring into each other’s eyes. 

“Nauseating, isn’t it?” Olwyn commented, sitting next to her brother with a slice of cake. Oswald snorted. 

“You and that Black boy are hardly any better,” he muttered, leaning over to swipe the icing flower off of her cake. Olwyn pouted. She and Regulus definitely weren’t that sappy. Were they? Well, maybe not, but she suspected, if they got married, they might be even worse. Olwyn blinked, her fork stilling. Marry Regulus? Where had that thought come from? Ridiculous. She did need to write him back, though. 

James and Lily had their first dance, ending in an overly dramatic dip, and eventually, more couples moved onto the floor. She spotted Frank and Alice performing a flawless waltz, and Remus and Sirius, too close for propriety but swaying gently to the music nonetheless. Oswald had danced with no less than four different witches, his charming smile never faltering. But Olwyn didn’t want to dance. She wanted to sit here and absorb the sheer happiness that seemed to fill every corner of the tent. She smiled. 

James and Lily left on their two week long honeymoon to Paris, and the house fell quiet. Fleamont was in his potions workshop most of the day, and Euphemia was in her gardens. Sometimes, she joined Oswald and Olwyn in a discussion of warding methods; other times, she seemed to prefer the quiet of her own company. Peter had gone home, because he had to go back to work, but Remus had stayed with Sirius. They had wandered off at some point in the mid morning and hadn’t been seen since. 

Olwyn sat at the desk in her room and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. 

_ Dear Regulus, _

_ I have to admit, I’m not as good a letter writer as you are. When I first read your letter, it made me blush. So much so that Lily, who was nearby, questioned if it was from someone special. It was, of course, and I told her as much.  _

_ Pottershall has been a chaotic mess, at least until today. The preparations for the wedding were overwhelming, but it went off without a hitch. James and Lily are off on their honeymoon, and all is quiet here. I love the gardens, and the library, in particular.  _

_ Sirius was not as bad as your stories make him seem. He’s far worse. The chaos he single-handedly unleashes is enough to level cities. Did you know he has a boyfriend? That’s what you meant when you said I wasn’t his type. I don’t know how anyone puts up with him. You need never fear losing my heart to him, I can tell you that for certain.  _

_ I hope your summer improves. I’d like to meet your Aunt Cassiopeia, since you think we’d get along so well. Did your grandfather seem surprised by the fact you were dating me? I can’t imagine he wouldn’t be. I can’t believe you told him! _

_ I miss you, Reg. Every day. I think about you all the time, and I can’t wait to see you again.  _

_ Yours, always, _

_ Olwyn Hawthorne _

When the ink was dry and her letter properly sealed, Olwyn set off to find an owl to carry it to London. She found Remus and Sirius in the library, the former with his nose in a book and the latter relaxing with his head in Remus’ lap, where the sandy-haired man could absentmindedly stroke Sirius’ curls. 

“Olwyn,” Sirius acknowledged, a lazy drawl. Remus hummed, but kept his eyes on the pages in front of him. “What did you need?” Sirius asked. 

“I wanted to send a letter,” she said, waving it by way of explanation. Sirius sat up, almost hitting his head on Remus’ book. 

“You can borrow Josephine,” he said, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. “Can’t she?” he asked Remus, who hummed again in a manner Sirius clearly took as agreement. “C’mon,” Sirius said, lurching to his feet. 

Olwyn followed Sirius down the corridor. She was still a little hesitant around him, as he was very loud and wasn’t always kind, but he was letting her borrow an owl, so she supposed she should be grateful.

“You don’t need to be so careful,” Sirius muttered as they climbed the stairs. “I’m not gonna bite.” 

“I know,” Olwyn defended. 

“You’re in Slytherin House,” he stated. “Going into your seventh year.”

“Erm, yeah,” Olwyn agreed, even though he didn’t ask it as a question. 

“You know Regulus.” 

Olwyn almost stopped. She wondered if Sirius had seen the name written on the front of her letter. “Yeah,” she said, hesitantly, “Of course I do.” 

Sirius hummed, his eyebrows drawing together. “What, uhm,” Sirius coughed. “What’s he like?” 

“He’s…” Olwyn paused, trying to think of a way to describe Regulus without betraying the fact she was in love with him. “He’s clever,” she said, “And very smart, always gets top marks. He can be cold, at times, but I think that might just be an old-money pureblood thing, to be honest.” 

Sirius snorted. “It definitely is,” he confirmed, “And Reg can mask up with the best of them.”

“But behind it, he’s kind,” she defended, “He thinks a lot, I think, and is certainly quiet, but he’s kind.” 

Sirius gave her a sideways look that reminded her so strongly of Regulus it almost made her gasp. They really did look similar. 

“He was kind,” Sirius admitted. He let the conversation drop, his eyebrows still furrowed as he led the way to the small owlery in the attic. 

Josephine returned from her errand the next day, but she didn’t bring a letter with her. Olwyn assumed that Regulus would write back when he was able, but she couldn’t help but feel a little impatient. She wanted to hear from him again. She had tucked his letter away in a little wooden box that Oswald had made for her, carved with a series of runes that prevented anyone but her from opening it.

She was attracted to the drawing room that afternoon by the frantic tumble of piano notes that poured out into the corridor. Whoever was playing was doing it as fast as they were able, with no regard to the musicality or emotion of the piece. She stuck her head inside, and spotted a tired-looking Remus Lupin sat on the floor with a puzzle in front of him. Sirius was perched on the piano bench, his fingers flying over the keys so quickly they almost blurred. 

“Olwyn,” Remus had to shout, waving his arm in greeting. She stepped inside the room and the music stopped. Sirius huffed. 

“I told you I could do it, Moony,” he said, grinning down at Remus. 

“I never said you couldn’t, Pads,” Remus pointed out, “You practically dared yourself.” 

“Whatever,” Sirius scoffed, “I still did it.” 

“You play really well,” Olwyn said. 

“Have to,” Sirius said, “I was drilled in piano since I was a kid, if I wasn’t any good then there would probably be something wrong with me.” 

“Still,” Olwyn shrugged. “What are you two up to?” 

“A puzzle,” was Remus’ answer.

“Slow death by boredom,” was Sirius’. 

Olwyn chuckled. They really were something of an odd couple, Sirius lounging over the piano bench with pureblood airs and leather trousers, and Remus cross-legged on the floor, exasperated in his cardigan. “How long have you been together?” she blurted out. Remus paled, and Sirius gave her a sharp look.

“Who said we were together?” he snapped. 

“Erm, no one?” Olwyn backtracked, “I’m sorry, I just assumed…”

“It’s alright,” Remus said, “Padfoot is a little touchy about it. People can be...cruel.”

“About what?” Olwyn asked. 

“About two men shagging,” Sirius drawled, blunt as ever. Remus pursed his lips. 

“Oh,” Olwyn said, thinking. “People care about that?” 

Both Remus and Sirius were staring at her. After a long moment, Sirius burst into laughter. “Olwyn, Olwyn, little Miss Hawthorne. They really don’t care about any of this nonsense in that Grove of yours, do they?”

“Nope,” Olwyn agreed, “As long as you contribute to the good of everyone and celebrate the holidays, no one really gives a damn. About anything.” 

Remus smiled. “That must be nice.”

“It is, I guess,” Olwyn shrugged, “But when that’s the way you’re raised, you don’t really think to question it.” 

“I’ll bet,” Sirius snorted. 

By the time James and Lily returned from Paris, Olwyn had come to the conclusion that Sirius was really more bark than he was bite, and that it was actually Remus you had to look out for. They passed July and the first week of August with little trouble, wandering the gardens and playing pick up Quidditch, reading in the library, eating the delicious ice creams that Lily had started making as a hobby, and generally making the most of summer. James and Lily, as it turned out, both had regular jobs, so every week day, James would go off to Auror training, and Lily would Floo to a Charms Master’s house for her apprenticeship. She and Oswald had had many discussions about the process of writing a thesis and applying for a Mastery, something Lily hoped to do in the next year. Sirius spent most of July working on a new spell he was inventing, which sounded interesting in theory, but was mostly just Sirius muttering to himself, up to his ears in Arithmancy calculations. Remus worked part time at a bookshop, which was surprising to Olwyn, but when she asked about it, he had just shrugged. Sirius’ glare told her she should drop the subject. 

She had written back to Lucy and Pandora when they had sent her letters, and exchanged several more with Regulus. They were all planning to meet up that Saturday in Diagon Alley to do school shopping and generally catch up. But Friday night, all of her plans flew out the window.

Olwyn was in the drawing room when Frank and a red-headed man Olwyn had never seen before burst through the door, supporting an unconscious Oswald between them. Olwyn shot to her feet; Oswald had gone off before dinner for something vague and Order-related, and told her to expect him back late. 

“What’s going on,” she breathed, unable to make her voice any louder. “What, what.” She stumbled towards the couch where they had set Oswald down. There was blood, horribly red against Oz’s golden hair. Oh stars. She fell to her knees at the arm of the couch, peering over the edge to stare at her brother’s pale, bloodied face. “Oz,” she tried, her voice weaker than she wanted. “Oswald,” she tried again. He answered when she called; he always answered when she called. “Oswald!”

“Get her out of here,” Frank commanded, and gentle hands pulled at Olwyn’s shoulders. 

“Oswald!” she cried again, fighting against whoever was trying to take her away. Didn’t they see she needed to be here, to make sure he was okay? “OSWALD,” she screamed, struggling. Tears spilled down her chin, but her brother’s face was so clear in her mind. “OSWALD!” 

Then there were hands around her waist, lifting her away from him, hoisting her over a shoulder, physically carrying her out of the room. “OSWALD!” she screamed, desperate for a response, or maybe to be let down, to go back to him, but she was carried further away. 

It was Sirius who had carried her, she realized when he set her down on a kitchen chair. Tears were flowing freely down her face. Sirius was filling a kettle, tapping the side with his wand to boil the water. He pulled down a mug and added a tea bag. These were familiar movements; these were things she knew. Focus on them. That’s what Aunt Mercy would say. Focus on what you can touch, can taste, can smell. The smooth wood of the chair beneath her fingers, the scent of Earl Grey as Sirius set the tea to steep. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. 

“What happened?” she whispered. Sirius was pale, but facing her, his grey eyes solemn for once. 

“I’m not sure, exactly,” he sighed, “But I can only imagine something went wrong. He was going on a mission, just some information gathering with Frank and Gideon. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.”

“But it was.”

“It was,” Sirius admitted. “Look, Olwyn, I don’t know how much Oswald has told you about what he’s been doing, about what’s going on, but...it’s dangerous out there. There are people who want to take over the Ministry, terrorists who want their own way, to be able to kill whoever they choose. It’s a brave thing that your brother is doing. Don’t doubt that.”

“Bravery gets people killed,” Olwyn retorted. 

Sirius grimaced. “Yes,” he said, “Sometimes. That’s a risk we sign up to take, that your brother has signed up to take.” 

“But he wouldn’t have,” Olwyn said, fresh tears building, “He wouldn’t have if I had never dragged him out of the Grove. He would have been safe in the Grove.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Olwyn laughed, her eyes wide. “I do know that. If I’d never said anything, never spilled the future so easily, he’d still be safe.” 

“What do you mean, spill the future?” Sirius asked, an edge in his voice Olwyn wasn’t sure she liked. 

“I’m a Seer,” she said, not looking at him. “I have Seen things that cannot come to pass, and I left the Grove to try to stop them. Oz-” she shuddered, “Oz would have been safe, if he’d stayed in the Grove.” 

“If you’re trying to change the future, to avoid some vision,” Sirius murmured, pulling the teabag out and adding Olwyn’s preferred two sugars and dash of milk, “Then doesn’t that mean you can’t always know what will happen instead?” He handed Olwyn the mug of tea.

Olwyn accepted it numbly. Sirius was right. She had one set future in her head, one way in which things could happen. But the minute she did something too large, something that changed one of the events she had listed in her journal, she would be flying just as blind as anyone else. She shuddered. 

“Oswald will be okay,” Sirius said, taking a seat opposite her. “You won’t lose him, not tonight. No one is actually promised anything, Olwyn, no matter what your visions might show you. The future can always change.” He fell silent, staring at his hands. Olwyn sipped her tea and gave herself over to the contemplation of events that had not come to pass, and might never, if she could help it. 

She ended up writing a note to Regulus, saying that her brother had been hurt and that she couldn’t meet them, and could he please give her apologies to their friends? His letter in response was kind, full of concern for Oz and assurances that he’d let everyone know what had happened. Oswald was fine, after a few days, but he’d really scared Olwyn. She was not unfamiliar with war and loss, but this was...unexpectedly close. She hadn’t...somewhere along the way, she had started thinking of Oswald as her real brother, and the threat of his loss was terrifying in a way she thought she’d left behind in her original time. 

The eventual trip to Diagon Alley was subdued; Oswald would be returning to the school the next day to prepare, and Olwyn wasn’t sure she wanted to be apart from him, not that she had much choice in the matter. So she’d clung to him through their shopping, not letting him out of her sight, which had caused a lot of exasperated sighing and affectionate eye-rolling on his part. Diagon Alley itself seemed darker, quieter. There were less people around, and the ones who did still walk the street did so with a purpose, head down and mouth set into a grim line. It didn’t help that the weather was dark and rainy, or that it was unseasonably cool. 

Lily and Sirius took her to King’s Cross station on the morning of the first of September, Lily Apparating her and Sirius taking her trunk. She gave Lily a big hug, and to her surprise, Sirius hugged her too. 

“Bye, kid,” he muttered, squeezing her hard. 

“We’ll see you at the holidays, alright?” Lily said, giving her a smile. Olwyn smiled back, taking her trunk from Sirius. 

“Thank you,” she said, “Both of you. Stay safe, okay?” They waved goodbye as she climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express to start her seventh, and final, year. 

  
_Cariad,_

_Thank you for writing me about Oswald. He never would have told me himself, you're right. I do try not to worry about you two, but...well. Be careful, my_ _blodyn gwyn. I'll tell Oswald the same._

_Aunt Mercy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to warn everyone, next chapter will officially bring a rating change! It will go up to E-rating, and will be tagged appropriately. 
> 
> I've always imagined the Wizarding War as starting out very behind-the-scenes, and only really being obvious to those in the know, so to speak, at least until the last few years before the infamous 31 October, 1981. Like, I dunno, do wizards have armies? Wouldn't it be more like guerrilla warfare and the sort of thing we see in the sixth and seventh books? That's sort of how I've chosen to play it thus far, at least.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> -Blue


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